The Blind Man's Bluff Affair
by Solo's Girl
Summary: UNCLE makes its move against the THRUSH Satrap. But will the price be too high? Final Chapter added
1. Chapter 1

_Authors note: Refernce to charaters from "The Slip of A Lip Affair."_

**Chapter 1**

"**New Isn't Always Improved."**

36 hours. It had been nearly 36 long exhausting hours since they started their assault. Tired, cold and now wet from being out in the drenching rain. But the micro-dots had been retrieved and were safe for the moment. And all it cost was a few hours of torture. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck at that thought. A loud ping and small pieces of mortar and brick flew past his head, reminding him of the job at hand.

Bullets were whizzing thru the air from all directions. The moans of hit targets drifted down the dark alleyway. In a half hour or so it would be light once more and the birds would no doubt try to take wing. Their temporary shelter was gradually being worn down, splinter by splinter and to surrender was out of the question, although not out of their thoughts.

With the satrap destroyed through the cunning explosives wiring by a Russian and the perfectly executed detonation by the American, the building had sent the "flock" in several different directions. Ignoring the flight of the lackeys, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin concentrated on following the four who were in charge of the operation.

Now cornered in a blind alley, the U.N.C.L.E. agents where holding their enemy at bay awaiting backup.

"I hope they get here soon," Kuryakin shouted to his partner over their gunfire.

"Waverly said five minutes tops…." He lowered his weapon and glanced at his watch, "That was ten minutes ago….."

A thunderous roaring sound came from the back end of the alleyway. Solo and Kuryakin pressed themselves tight against their own protective wall as a rocket flew past them. They both cringed as it struck the car across the street blowing it into a million tiny pieces.

"Dam it!" Napoleon shouted, "I only had six more payments on that…."

"Don't worry about the car Napoleon," Kuryakin said, "Worry about the fact that they have a rocket launcher. I didn't see them carry that out!"

"You're right, Illya…..Not exactly a concealed weapon!"

Illya chuckled to himself and fired off a few more rounds. He looked across the alley to see his partner retrieve another weapon from inside his jacket.

Napoleon quickly began to assemble the new Carbine. It was much sleeker then the old one, lighter and the elongated barrel would allow for more distance. He attached the scope and flipped a small switch on the side which changed it to a night vision viewer. He grabbed the extra ammunition clip from his pocket and loaded the weapon.

They had asked Kuryakin to field test the new gun, but he preferred the original. It was heavier and felt better in his hand. A gun he knew would never let him down. He fired off a few more shots as Solo steadied the new gun's shoulder brace.

The wail of several car engines filled the air. Backup had finally arrived. Illya looked back and motioned for the newly arrived agents to split up, some coming down the alley, the rest taking the corner and coming up from behind the short brick wall that blocked the THRUSHes way out.

Several shots pocked the brick walls and doorframes the two UNCLE agents were hiding in. Then another rocket sparks and fumes trailing behind like the fourth of July sped past them. This time it caught the corner or the building. Bricks, dust and mortar began to fall behind Solo and Kuryakin.

Solo edged out in the alley, hidden by a stack of large metal drums and a few wooden crates. He could see the THRUSH reloading the rocket launcher in the night scope.

"Bye bye birdies," he said low to himself.

He pulled the trigger and felt the enormous kick of the powerful new weapon. The rush was tremendous. Solo pulled back again on the trigger and the new Carbine fired once more. Again and again. Illya heard him make what amounted to an almost squeal of delight as he fired again. The overgrown child playing with his new toy, Kuryakin thought with a smile.

Another rocket flew past bringing down more bricks a mortar, this time closer to the agents then was really comfortable. Illya choked on the dust, his foot slipped on the narrow door ledge and he found himself out of the safety of his doorway. A loud ping and Solo saw his partner quickly grabbed his forearm, the tan jacket sleeve turning a dark red. Illya bit down on his lip and forced himself back into the door frame.

"Are you alright?" Solo shouted.

"Just a scratch," Illya replied his voice filled with pain but still steady.

Solo stepped out once more into the shelter and fired off a few more rounds. He could see the other U.N.C.L.E. agents getting into position behind the THRUSHes. But he still needed to keep their attention firmly on himself and his partner.

The dust was still thick in the air. Illya coughed and fired his weapon again, but with great difficulty. He needed to change hands to fire but that would mean exposing himself in the alley again. He looked towards Napoleon.

"Switch?" Kuryakin shouted.

Napoleon nodded and crouched down. With three sharp nods of his head, the Russian jumped from his doorway firing, the American hit the ground and rolled across the alley. Now in their new positions they continued their barrage at the THRUSH agents.

Illya could hear the distinctive pop of the new Carbine. Then a hair-raising cry of agony. He saw the new U.N.C.L.E. weapon drop, or perhaps thrown would be more appropriate, into the alley, smoke coming from the barrel and clip. He looked towards his partner.

Napoleon Solo lay in a sprawl inside the doorway, his body twitching, hands and arms folded over his face as he literally screamed in pain. He rolled out of the doorframe into the alley leaving himself open to the THRUSH bullets.

Illya instinctively leaped from his shelter, using himself to shield Solo. His wounded arm was killing him, but the Russian held his firearm steady and fired his rounds.

The other UNCLE Agents dropped over the wall and took the remaining four THRUSHes completely by surprise. They were quickly disarmed and the clear given.

Solo was desperately trying to crawl out of the alley on his hands and knees. He moved a few feet then rolled over onto the concrete, struggling to right himself. Illya took off after him. He watched as Solo crawled over a pile of debris and slammed head first into the side of the wall. Napoleon cried out again.

"Napoleon….." he shouted, "Napoleon what happened?"

The sun was cresting and the alleyway was beginning to fill with light. The U.N.C.L.E. agents pressed their captives towards the open end of the alley. One stopped and retrieved the Carbine, only to drop it again from the intense heat of the gun. He grabbed his handkerchief and picked up the shoulder brace the only part of the gun that was safe to touch.

Kuryakin finally caught up with his partner. He fell to his knees and grabbed Solo by the shoulders. To his surprise Napoleon tried to pull away. The insistent Russian held on struggling with the agent.

He glanced down at the broken pieces of concrete Napoleon had been crawling over. A strange looked crossed his face as he reached on hand towards a large broken slab of cement.

Blood.

And even more frightening, a few small pieces of flesh.

"Napoleon it's me Illya," he said, just in case his partner was stunned and didn't realize who had hold of him.

Napoleon fell forward on his stomach, his arms wrapped tightly around his head. It was only then that Illya saw the burnt flesh of his partner's hand.

Agent Dowd walked up with the carbine in his hand. Illya saw the gun clearly.

The barrel extension was blown apart and the barrel itself bent backwards. The clip was melted, the scope shattered and missing its lenses.

Illya looked at the gun, then back at his partner. The agent swallowed the large knot that suddenly formed in his throat and tried to turn his partner over. At first Napoleon struggled against him. But the pain overwhelmed him and he passed out.

A few of the agents took the THRUSHes and loaded them in the cars. Two of them started back to help Kuryakin with his partner. They too had seen the warped carbine and didn't know what they would find when they went back. The two agents became visibly shaken by what they saw.

Illya Kuryakin, the tough as nails, hardnosed Russian was sitting in the middle of the ally. He was just sitting there slowly rocking back and forth.

In his arms, Napoleon Solo, limp, his face and head turned into Illya's chest away from the eyes of the others. His burnt hand turned open as his arm swayed with the rocking motion.

The men stepped up and looked at their fellow agents. Illya motioned for Dowd to take off his jacket at which the agent quickly responded. They watched Illya shield Solo from their view as he wrapped the garment loosely around his friends head.

Carefully the three men lifted their wounded comrade and carried him to the car.

**Later that afternoon at UNCLE Headquarters…**

Waverly walked into the security weapons area. The thick metal door slid shut and locked. He looked at the faces of the three men waiting his arrival. They were startled by the expression on the UNCLE Chief's face as he walked in. Waverly had all the appearances of being ill and having aged a few years.

Chief Barker walked over and helped the Section one head to his chair. He handed Waverly an Intel folder on the four THRUSH prisoners. Photos taken by Solo and Kuryakin showed the top five men connected with the satrap.

The fifth man was missing.

"Sir…..How is Mr. Solo?" he asked.

Waverly seemed almost to fumble for his words then cleared his throat.

"He is still in surgery….But Doctor Martz is not giving him very good odds. They have to go into the glabellas and remove a fragment of the gun that is lodged there…"

"Excuse me sir," one of the men asked puzzled, "The glabellas?"

Chief Barker looked at the man and reaching up, poked him in the forehead just above his nose between his eyebrows.

"Right there, Mr. Harper," the Security Chief said.

"Now gentlemen I want to know what happened…." Waverly almost shouted at them.

One of the Weapons Specialist, a Mr. Pettinati, walked over and uncovered what was left of the Carbine and the clip they had finally removed from it. He quickly slipped on a pair of protective gloves.

Alexander Waverly felt his stomach turn as he looked at the gun. He stood up and leaned his palms against the table. His eyes studied the weapon.

Pettinati picked up the metal clip that had once held the ammunition. He pulled it apart showing the inside of the casing.

"The problem was not with the gun," Pettinati said, "But with this…The clip tried to release two shots at the same time. They stuck each other in the barrel causing it to explode."

"I want whomever handled this clip identified…Is that understood gentlemen?" Waverly said.

The other three men looked at one another and then at their boss.

"Mr. Waverly, sir," Pettinati said, "There is virtually no way to retrieve fingerprints from the clip. Anyone in the department had access to it. It is a standard clip used in all U.N.C.L.E. .38s. It was an accident sir. Nothing more."

Alexander Waverly drew his bushy eyebrows down and looked at each of the others. They saw his nostrils flare slightly.

"My CEA is fighting for his life right now….Even if he lives he may have permanent damage that could cost him everything and U.N.C.L.E. its future Chief. I want this "accident" investigated completely, not one thing should be overlooked."

"Sir…I really…" Harper started to say.

Waverly stared at the younger weapons man.

"….Think we may be able to find something…."

"Chief Barker, can I see that photo again of the five THRUSH operatives?" Pettinati asked.

Barker handed the weapons man the photo once more. He and Harper looked at the faces closely.

"I thought I recognized him. One THRUSH, this one here, is a weapons man himself."

Barker looked at him and tried not to smile. The Security Chief opened his briefing folder and looked over the dossiers of his captives and the missing man.

"You're right Pettinati," Barker said surprised, "Randolph Sequa…THRUSH operations, Weapons coordinator, retrieval and procurement. He is one of the best at getting those "hard to find" items, like Dilithium Sulfide bombs, Plutonium, that sort of thing. How did you know that?"

"I recognized him now. A student of mine, six years ago in Ottawa," Harper said, "Working on his degree as a Chemistry Major."

"Looks like he made it," Harper said low.

Waverly looked at the young man.

"We know THRUSH had our men as temporary prisoners…Mr. Kuryakin confirmed that much. They would have taken their weapons from them for that time. It would have given THRUSH time to look over the new Carbine and anything else they needed to do…"

"Mr. Kuryakin did say they hesitated in retrieving their weapons because they had been left un-secured in the main office….On top of the desk I believe he said, out in the open for them to…"

Pettinati looked at the opened clip. He adjusted his glasses and flipped a small magnifying glass down over one of the lenses.

"What is it Mr. Pettinati?" Waverly asked.

"Something Chief Barker said…..Dilithium Sulfide….I'll have to check it in the lab….I wonder if Mr. Solo loaded this clip while they were under cover, or if they were outside….It's still raining isn't it?"

Almost as if on cue a loud thunderclap resonated outside.

Harper looked at his boss.

"You think the clip was tampered with? Maybe coated with DS?" the younger man asked.

"That would explain the amount of burn and the release of the double rounds…especially if it was exposed to water. I'll check this in the lab and get the information to you right away Mr. Waverly."

The chirp of a communicator sounded. Waverly removed his.

"Waverly here."

"Mr. Waverly….Doctor Martz would like to see you in Medical immediately sir." Lisa Rogers said.

"I'm on my way, Miss Rogers."

Waverly turned and moved unexpectedly fast out of the room and up the hallway.

"If Solo doesn't make it," Barker said low, "I'm afraid Mr. Waverly may not be able to handle it."

"But he has had other Agents under him die in the line of duty before," Harper said.

"Yes, but not an agent like Napoleon Solo…He's not only the youngest CEA we ever had, but he is next in line for Section one number one. Waverly thinks of Solo as more than just another agent, Mr. Harper."

Pettinati moved the magnifier away and looked at the two men.

"Come on Harper," he said, "We have a lot of work to do."

Randolph Sequa leaned back in the large plush chair and brushed his fingers of the soft fabric. The young secretary came up to him and he took the Brandy snifter from the tray she was holding. He gave the crystal a tip and gently swilled the wonderful elixir inside a few times. He gently moved the rim of the glass blow his nose and breathed in the aroma. He closed his eyes and sighed.

The man sitting across from him smiled and made a light laugh.

"I thought a little Napoleon Brandy was in order Randolph," Lewis Sharpton said raising his own glass, "I would have given anything to have his face when that new master weapon exploded on him."

Sequa smiled and nodded in agreement. He watch he young woman walk out the door.

"Same here sir," Randolph said, "Unfortunately it was just too dark and too much dust and smoke to get a good look. But if the rest of his injuries are as bad as his hand…..We won't have to worry about Napoleon Solo from here on."

"Bad?"

"From what I could see as they carried him out of the alley, burned and bits of skin flapping in the wind."

Sharpton cringed and made a disgusted expression.

"Please Sequa, not while I'm enjoying such a delightful drink."

Both men laughed and tipped their glasses once more.

"The only problem now," Sharpton said, "Will be agent Kuryakin…Undoubtedly his next move will be revenge for his fallen, ah, "comrade"."

Sequa shook his head no.

"Waverly wouldn't allow it. Revenge is not something U.N.C.L.E. condones from their agents. Besides most likely it will be deemed an accident by their weapons expert…."

"Pettinati? I almost forgot about that incompetent boob. Teacher of yours wasn't he?"

"Yes sir. Taught me everything I know. And everything else I learned from THRUSH!"

The young woman came in and refilled their glasses. Randolph smiled at her as she filled his glass. His free hand reached over and caressed the back of her leg, then slid up inside her short skirt. The woman jumped slightly but made no indication of having been violated by his probing digits.

Randolph moved his hand and gave her a hard firm slap on the backside.

"Astrid, bring another bottle to my room in an hour," he told her, "And two glasses."

Astrid Wyss was the only woman in THRUSH who could have given Serena a run for her money. Tall slender at the shoulders and waist, truly the hourglass figure men often dream about. Her hair the color of yellow corn and her eyes were a soft and inviting shade blue-green. The soft blush of her cheek could turn any man's head as she would drop her eyes coyly and seductively part her full pink lips. A natural beauty born and raised in the Swiss Alps, she had been relocated to the THRUSH operations in the United States.

"Leave her alone Randolph," Sharpton said smiling, "She has enough to deal with without your lechery."

Sequa laughed and looked at her.

"But she enjoys being with me," he said, "Don't you?"

Astrid walked over to Sharpton and filled his glass. She felt safer around him. The young woman looked at the other THRUSH and took a deep breath.

"Almost as much as having my appendix removed without anesthetic," she said to Randolph giving him a slight shoulder shrug.

Sharpton nearly choked on his laughter. He wiped his eyes.

"That's my girl," he said clipping her chin and pulling her lips to his in a kiss.

"Still I want her in my room in an hour," Randolph said forcefully.

"Oh whatever," Sharpton said resigning to the fact that the man wanted her and would have her regardless of what he said, "Humor him, Astrid."

The woman stood up and replaced the stopper on the Brandy bottle.

"If you've ever seen him naked," she said, "He already has a sense of humor."

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Sharpton in a fit of hysterical laughter and Sequa in the mood to kill.

Waverly stepped out of the elevator just as Martz was finishing giving his orders to the ICU team. The doctor looked at the UNCLE Chief. He motioned for Waverly to follow him across the hall into one of the empty wards.

"The only good news I have Alexander is that the burns to his hand are not as serious as they first appeared….We had a difficult time removing the metal piece form his forehead. It had penetrated the soft skull tissue. Blood began to build behind the bone when we removed it. We managed to stop the bleeding…He is on life support at the moment…I would suggest you notify his Aunt and see if his Cousin from Canada can fly in."

"Certainly it isn't that…"

"You have to face it Alexander….Unless you believe in miracles…."

Waverly coughed a few times to clear his throat.

"I always have, Quinton," the Chief said, "I've seen enough of them."

"Alex….." Martz said sympathetically.

But Waverly stopped him. He would notify Napoleon's family but only to have them by for support. He started back towards the door.

"I can only do so much," Martz said loudly.

"But you'll do all you can," Waverly replied as he opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Martz folded his arms across his chest and gave his eyes a hard rub with his fingers.

Waverly started down the hall towards the ICU room when Kuryakin stepped out in front of him. For a moment the two men studied one another. Illya was able to read his boss almost as well as he could Napoleon.

Waverly saw the young agent's eyes glaze slightly. It was a look he had seen many years ago when the two agents had been on their first assignment and Solo had been injured. Without saying a word the U.N.C.L.E. Chief put his hand on Kuryakin's shoulder and the two men walked together down the hallway.

Sequa waited for Astrid to arrive. She came in with the Brandy and glasses. Sitting the tray on the dresser she saw his reflection in the mirror as he walked up behind her. His arms slipped around her and he poured out their drinks.

"So what were you celebrating earlier?" she asked so disinterested she almost yawned.

"The demise of one Napoleon Solo," Sequa said pressing his face to her neck.

She dropped her glass. The crystal shattered and Brandy went everywhere.

"What's wrong with you?" Randolph asked giving her a sharp bite on the shoulder.

"I felt something poke me."

"That was me my dear and my concealed weapon."

"That wouldn't have been a poke," she said turning towards him coolly, "More like a prick," she looked down, "And a little prick at that."

Randolph roared with anger. He grabbed her by the arms only to find himself seconds latter flat on the floor, gasping for his breath. The victim of a perfectly executed judo flip. He felt himself temporarily unable to move from the pain.

"I leaned from the best," Astrid said, smiling at him.

Randolph Sequa yelled in agony as the woman's foot placed a powerful kick to his groin. He doubled over in pain, his hands now firmly pressed against his swelling manhood.

Astrid took the last of the Brandy, poured herself a drink and raised her glass to the downed THRUSH.

"You were right Randolph," she said taking a drink, "I did enjoy it!"

Waverly was sitting quietly at his desk when the pneumatic door hissed open. He stood up as Illya Kuryakin walked in, Napoleon's aunt, Amy Penobscot at his side. The woman gave the younger agents arm a pat and walked over to the UNCLE Chief. Waverly gave her a warm hug and held her arm as Illya held her chair.

"Please Alexander," she said, "Please tell me he is going to be alright."

"I hope so," was all Waverly could say.

Amy began to cry. Illya handed her his handkerchief. She smiled weakly up at the Russian.

"Thank you Illya.…I really don't know how much more of this I can take," she said.

Illya knew she was not just talking about Napoleon, but her daughter Marnie.

Marnie was another U.N.C.L.E. agent assigned to the Canadian Sector, specifically the PNW (Pacific Northwest) division. Only eight months ago she had taken a directed hit by a THRUSH vehicle. Broken legs, in traction for two months, shattered arm, fractured skull. It had to be in the genes, she forced herself to recover as quickly as possible so she could return to duty.

Amy had only found her daughter again a little over a year and a half before, thanks to Alexander Waverly and now their tiny family was together. Amy, Marnie and Napoleon; they were all the family they had.

"Marnie and her partner are on assignment right now," Waverly said, "Last reports were that they were safe but it will be a few weeks before their mission is over. Then she is to report here immediately."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw the slender blond next to her smile slightly. She looked at him. His cheeks blushed. She knew there was something between the Russian and her daughter but they were both consenting adults. She reached over and gave Illya's hand a soft squeeze.

The table console buzzed. Waverly flipped the switch.

"This is Mr. Pettinati, Could you please come to the weapons lab, sir….I've found something…"

"Dilithium Sulfate….A power. Injected into the ammunition clip and the short barrel..Once the two pieces were exposed to the rain water, they became extremely flammable. The release mechanism in the clip melted, causing the two rounds to fire simultaneously, when the hit inside the barrel it caused the weapon to explode….And thanks to some rather ingenious experimentation by Mr. Harper we were able to lift two finger prints from the outside of the clip…..Mr. Solo's and Randolph Sequa."

"Well done Mr. Pettinati and you also Mr. Harper. Excellent work…Now we know who to look for."

Amy and Illya went down to Solo's room. They stood quietly at the door while Doctor Martz finished up his check on the agent. He walked towards them.

"How is he Doctor?" Amy asked.

Martz saw the look on Kuryakin' face.

"I have to tell you, he is critical, but stable. Right now we just have to wait and see. I wish I had more. Please, not too long a visit…Okay?"

Amy nodded. Martz left them alone. They walked over closer to the bed.

Napoleon's entire head was wrapped in thick gaze bandages. His mouth the only part of his handsome face exposed, but a thick tube feeding him oxygen covered most of that. His left hand was bandaged and elevated on a pillow. His body attached to the various machines keeping him alive.

"He'll be alright," Illya said, trying to keep his voice steady, "Napoleon Solo is tough….He's been in situations like this before…..He'll be alright."

Amy turned and looked at him.

"Illya you don't need to convince me," she said placing her soft hand to his cheek, "Or yourself either."

Illya took her hand and gently kissed her palm. She was a wonderful woman. And Napoleon was lucky to have someone like her in his life. She gave his cheek another pat and they sat down next to the bed.

For the next few hours they talked, to each other, to Napoleon. Not knowing if he could hear them. But they talked to him anyway.

**One month later…..**

Martz looked at the chart and made the last of his notes.

"Any reports on the THRUSH that caused all this, Alexander?" he asked as he scribbled the information on the chart.

"Nothing. No Intel of any kind. And nothing from the other four who were with him. I'm beginning to worry about one of our operatives working inside as well. We haven't heard a word from her since the day this happened."

"And Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Working hard as usual..Of course the first words out of his mouth when he comes back into the office are "How is Napoleon?" Then he says hello." Waverly smiled. "He and Miss Dancer should be returning in a few days."

"Thanks for the warning," Martz said smiling.

The doctor looked over his notes and hung the chart on the wall. Waverly stood beside the bed and looked at Solo. He knew his man wouldn't let him down.

"How is he today?"

"Improving…He has been off the ventilator for almost two week, lungs sound fine. The burns to his face and hands are healing nicely. He may have some scaring on the hand but nothing more. He still has a long way to go. I swear Alexander…If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it."

"Oh ye of little faith," Waverly said smiling.

Martz shook his head and chuckled. Waverly was, as always, right. Being a man of medicine, Martz had to keep faith and science on different scales. It never ceased to amazing him though when things like this happened. Miracle? Call it what you like, but whatever it was he never looked at the gift with malice.

The men started to walk away when Waverly suddenly stopped.

"Quinton…"

The doctor turned around and saw Napoleon's good hand, his fingers clutching tight to the bottom edge of Waverly's jacket. He walked back over and tried to move the fingers only to feel them hold tighter.

"Welcome back Mr. Solo," Martz said.

**Two more months pass…..**

The two figures walked slowly down the hall in medical.

One still a bit unsteady, the other a rock.

They made their way into one of the examination rooms.

"Alright slacker," Illya said, "I'm tired of pulling your duty as well as mine."

Napoleon smiled as his partner helped him find the examination table. He felt the thick white bandages around his eyes tighten slightly.

"What's the matter….You don't like being a Seeing Eye agent?"

"It's not in my job description," Illya said with a fake huff in his voice.

"You didn't know there was a "take your partner for walkies" clause?"

Illya laughed. He helped Solo sit down on the examination table. He could feel Illya's hand tighten around his arm.

"Okay mom," Napoleon said, "I'm sitting down now. You can let go."

Kuryakin laughed and loosened his grip. He saw his partner smile and scoot back a few inches.

Napoleon rubbed his arm where the Russian had held him. He laughed slightly and leaned back. Illya just caught him as he almost flipped over the opposite side of the table.

"Damn it Napoleon!" Kuryakin shouted, "Just SIT. Don't lean; don't do anything...Just sit."

"Well you could have told me I was sitting on the side of the table and not the end..." Solo said

The doctor walked in with Mr. Waverly close behind. Solo heard the doctor pull the metal tray of instruments up next to the table.

"Alright Mr. Solo," Martz said, "Here we go…."

Illya and Waverly stood together as the doctor and his nurse began to slowly remove the bandages. The young woman dimmed the lights in the room slightly. Martz got down to the last few bandages. He raised Solo's hands up to cover his eyes. The doctor reached beneath the agents hand and removed the last two small bandages that covered each eye.

"Okay Napoleon," Martz said, "I want you to slowly open your eyes."

Napoleon hesitated then he felt his eyes flutter as he opened them. His body began to shake. Martz reached over and took hold of his patient. Waverly stepped past Illya and leaned towards Solo.

"Napoleon...give them a few more blinks..."

Napoleon's eyes fluttered then began to water. His pupils darted from side to side and he continued to shake. Illya saw the large brown eyes scan the room, the pupils dilating as they moved from the light to the darker spaces.

Solo raised his hands to his face. Martz and Waverly caught the young agent as he slipped from the table to the floor. He was on his knees. They helped him back up on the table.

"Mr. Solo…...Napoleon..." Waverly said trying to get the agent to calm down.

The normally staunch Chief threw his arms around the CEA's head and pressed him close. Illya watched as his boss stroked the back of his partners head and laid his face against Solo soft hair. This was not the type of reaction often seen in the U.N.C.L.E. Chief. Napoleon was shaking violently, but he refused to let the others see his tears.

"I'm very sorry Napoleon," Martz said gently, "We did everything we could..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"**Loves Lost and Found."**

Amy walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She didn't try to hide her sadness from her darling Nephew. He couldn't have seen her depressed expression anyway. She walked over next to the sofa where Napoleon was sitting,

Clad only in his bathrobe, the agent leaned against the sofa arm his head rested against the thick plush stuffing. He heard a small gasp.

"Napoleon Solo!" Amy said in surprise, "If you insist on running around like that, would you at least have the decency to keep that ratty bathrobe completely closed."

Napoleon's face blush. He hadn't realized the robe wasn't covering all of him. He quickly pulled it across himself and took the extra precaution on covering himself with the blanket he had slept under the night before.

"I'm sorry Aunt Amy," he said, his voice low and sad.

She sat down beside him and he felt her soft fingers brush across his hair. He trembled. The elder woman carefully put her arm around his broad shoulders and pulled him close. Napoleon's head flopped over onto her shoulder and there they sat.

Finally Amy stood up and helped Napoleon lie down on the sofa. She gently tucked the blanket around him and kissed his cheek. The woman felt his hand take a firm grasp of her own and he pressed it to his lips giving it a tender kiss.

"My sweet little Napoleon," she whispered, her fingers once more brushed across his silky hair.

Napoleon sighed and fell back to sleep.

He could hear a soft steady breathing. Something was lying against his body and a quirky grin crossed Solo's face. He shifted slightly. There was a movement across his lap and he tried to hold back his laughter. His hand reached down and felt the soft silky smooth hair. Napoleon brushed it down in a loving stroking motion.

Napoleon felt whoever it was shift again and they edged their way slowly up his body. He smiled.

"I hope Amy isn't here," he said low, "It would be a bit awkward to have company and she walks in on us."

He felt something press against his chest. Solo instinctively pursed his lips.

Something cold pressed against his cheek and the sandpapery feel of a tongue began to lick his face. He raised his hands as the dog began to carefully shower affection on him. Solo pushed against it but to no avail.

"Hey!...Get down….What's going on?" he shouted.

The room was suddenly filled laughter. Two, no it was three different voices he heard. He sat up but the dog continued to lick his face.

"So typical of you Napoleon," a woman said, "Warm body, soft hair, and you automatically want to kiss it!"

Solo turned his head from side to side trying to hone in on the voice. He felt a hand on his shoulder and someone kissed the top of his head.

"Marnie?" he said, clasping her hand with his.

"That would be me."

"Then this must be Tag…" he said.

The dog barked in response to his name and licked Solo's face again.

"Where is…..?"

He felt someone sit on the edge of the sofa. The dog jumped down and curled up on the floor. A pair of warm soft arms wrapped around his shoulders and he felt a tickle against his ear.

"I'll lick your face latter," Jackie whispered, a smile in her voice.

She felt his arms wrap around her and he held her tight. Napoleon laughed. They released their hold and Jackie Reyno sat back looking at him.

"What are you two…" he heard a low growl, "Excuse me…you three doing here?" he asked.

"Special assignment," Marnie said.

"Babysitting?"

"Hardly Napoleon," Jackie said, her hand brushed his cheek, "Mr. Waverly decided that since Marnie was coming in anyway, we might as well all come in and act as temporary bodyguard. He's worried THRUSH might try to get….Well, we'll be here for awhile."

"Well whatever the reason…..I'm glad you're here," he said.

Bill Del Floria looked up from his press and glanced out of the front window. A skinny figure on a bicycle stopped in front of the shop, leaning the dilapidated vehicle against the cast iron railing. The rider bent down and removed the rubber bands from around their pants leg giving each a shake and the leg a rub to get the circulation going again.

The figure stood upright once more, gave their baggy blue denim jacket a shake, the bill of their oversized cap a tug, and pulled the black canvas messenger bag back to their side. A few short steps down and the door to the Tailor shop opened.

"Can I help you?" Bill asked his hand cautiously hovering on the emergency call button.

The person walked up to the counter and took the bag from around their shoulders laying it on the counter.

"Yes," a soft voice said, "I have come to see my uncle…"

Astrid lifted her face and smiled at the elder man. A look of concern crossed his face as he saw the last remnants of a bruise on her cheek.

"I know he'll be happy to see you as well," Bill said.

Del Floria quickly let Waverly know that the young woman was there. By the time she made it through the hidden fitting room panel, Alexander Waverly was waiting at reception for her. She walked thru the door and removed her cap, letting her beautiful hair fall back down to her shoulders.

She received her ID badge and went to the conference room with her boss.

"They have had my apartment under surveillance for about three months now and I know it's bugged as well," she said taking a sip of her Earl Grey tea, "Coming and going from THRUSH is one thing, but I had to disguise myself to get out of the building and come here."

Waverly reached across the small section of table that separated them and carefully clipped her chin with his fingers. He studied the last of the bruise.

"How did that happen?" he asked.

Astrid smiled and told him about what she did to Randolph Sequa. Since then he had become much more aggressive towards her. She reached up and gave the flesh a light push.

"Then about a week ago, I found myself in a situation I couldn't get out of…Lewis Sharpton all but ordered me to let Sequa have his way, guess he was tired of Randolph's constant whining. Things go out of hand and…." She pointed to her bruise once more.

"Otherwise you are alright then?" Waverly asked concern in his voice.

"I think so. As soon as I'm finished my report to you I have to go to medical and get checked-out."

Waverly stood up and stepped over to the young woman. He held out his arm for her to take.

"Medical first…" he said smiling.

They walked to the elevator. Waverly brought her up to speed on Napoleon.

"He can't see anything at all?"

"He can distinguish between light and dark, but only if it's a bright light."

They walked into the infirmary.

While they waited for Doctor Martz's results, Waverly pulled a chair up next to the young woman.

"I don't understand why you haven't sent UNCLE agents into their location," Astrid said, "I mean they have been in the same place for over four months now. The ammunition storage warehouse was, how do you say, small potatoes compared to the main safe house."

"I have my reasons," Waverly said calmly, "Can you tell me how many operatives are currently at the safe house?"

"With Sharpton, Sequa, Arlo Ditka and another man I didn't recognize, but of some higher authority I do know that, with the compliment of armed guards and others. All total, around twenty-eight or thirty. I have never seen them have such a large group in assemblage anywhere. Do you know what it means, Mr. Waverly?"

Waverly gave her arm a comforting pat.

"Nothing to worry about my dear."

Martz walked back in and looked at the woman. He glanced over at Waverly.

"Well other than a few internal bruises and one small thing that will require a few stitches, she appears to fine. No other problems from what the tests show."

"Wonderful," Waverly said, "Doctor when she's ready make sure she gets back to the conference room."

"Yes sir," Martz said giving his answer sharp followed by a mock salute.

"I like that," Waverly said, stone faced, "I think you should do that every time."

He gave Astrid a wink as he headed for the door. In the small mirrored window, Waverly saw the doctor roll his eyes. He didn't even attempt to hide his smile.

Sequa, Sharpton and Ditka walked down the hall of the THRUSH safe house. None of them spoke as they walked, hands folded behind them. Occasionally one would glance over at the other two, but their eyes always returned to the man walking in front of them.

The forth man was tall, around six-foot six and slight of build. He had a thick crop of sandy brown hair that was neatly cut and parted. His eyes were a frosty shade of blue-grey and even though they possessed no power, seemed to send chills up the spine of anyone who was foolish enough to look directly into them.

He motioned to one of the doors. Sharpton stepped quickly forward, opened it and reached inside flipping on the light. The tall man looked inside, rubbed his hand against the wall then gave it a rap with his knuckles. He nodded to Sharpton, who promptly extinguish the light and closed the door again.

This went on for nearly two hours as the men covered all three floors of the house. They returned to the large ornate den.

"You gentlemen have done quite well," Charles Nyman said sitting down at the desk.

The other three nodded.

"Thank you, sir," they said sporadically.

"And I must say what a wonderful job you did on Napoleon Solo," Nyman continued, "It would have been a pity if he had died." A crooked smile curled his lips. "Such a handsome young man…Now completely useless…except to us of course."

Sharpton smiled and nodded.

"What about his shadow…Kuryakin?"

"Under the tight control of his boss," Sharpton replied, "Waverly doesn't believe in revenge…"

"Yes I know…"

"….So Kuryakin has been put on other assignments. We have had a difficult time catching up with the elusive Russian though."

Sequa and Ditka were busying themselves fixing drinks for everyone. Randolph Sequa walked over to his boss and handed him a glass of Bourbon. Nyman took a drink and looked as if he were going choke. He gave the glass a hefty flip, throwing the liquid in Sequa face.

"What the hell is that suppose to be?" Nyman shouted, "Taste like cat pee."

"It's your brand sir, must be a bad bottle" Sequa said, apologetically, "I'm sorry sir; I'll find another bottle right away."

Sequa all but groveled as he backed out of the room in search of another bottle.

Nyman stood up and walked towards the liquor cabinet.

"Why did you do that, Charlie?" Sharpton asked.

"I detest that little pimple," Nyman said refilling his glass from the same bottle of Bourbon.

Sharpton saw Ditka smile then quickly hide it. He looked back at the boss.

"Well pimple or not, we couldn't have done such a great job getting rid of Solo without him," Sharpton said, "He is the best weapons man we have."

"Maybe…Where is the woman? Astrid."

"At her apartment. I have a guard watching her right now."

Nyman looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why is she not staying here under your supervision?"

"She doesn't get along with Sequa either…" Sharpton said smiling.

"I want her back here and kept here….Is that understood?" Nyman said snarling at the THRUSH.

"Yes…Sir," Sharpton replied sharply.

Lewis Sharpton picked up the phone and called for a guard to go and pick up Astrid.

Marnie and Illya sat on the window seat facing one another. Knees drawn, she watched the Russian smile as he slipped his legs around each side of her. Tucking his feet behind her, Illya began to slide her closer to him until they were quite close. He gently lifted each of her legs and wrapped them around his own body. As her body pressed against his lap, the Russian's intentions became obvious.

She smiled as he reached up and drew the stiff linen window shade down. She reached over pulling the heavy drapes closed, blocking them completely from anyone who might happen to look towards the window.

Amy and a U.N.C.L.E. bodyguard had gone out shopping for a few hours. She wanted to make something special for dinner and find her nephew a new bathrobe. Besides she knew the young people wanted to be alone for awhile. She remembered being young herself.

Jackie was in the bedroom with Napoleon. They lay together under the sweat soaked sheets trying to catch their collective breath before the next round of love making. She smiled as she watched the rise and fall of his chest. Her fingers reached up and playfully twisted his forelock.

Napoleon turned on his side. If she didn't know better, Jackie could have sworn he was staring right at her. She watched as he moved his head slowly, his eyes moving slowly down her figure as his hands gently caressed her tingling skin. She lifted her hand and ever so gently began to move it in front of his face. He made no indication that he saw it.

Jackie felt his hands pull her closer, his lips finding the tender part of her neck. She sighed and tilted her head back as they once again became one.

Illya felt the warmth of Marnie's body against his own. His hands held firmly to her hips as he moved her to and fro. She smiled as his lips found her warm skin and he began to bite and suck at the tender tissue.

She squealed lightly as he bit down on the curve of her neck. Marnie moaned blissfully as he began to kiss her harder and faster. Illya pulled her body down harder against his own.

They both cried out from sheer exhilaration. Trembling, Illya leaned back against the window frame and held Marnie tight, his face resting atop her dark hair. She felt the cold beads of perspiration on his bare chest and began to lovingly kiss the cool skin. She felt his body react, and sighed at the wonderful sensation she felt. He felt her cheeks move as she smiled.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked out of breath.

"I was thinking…Isn't it strange….Making love to your partner's cousin?" she asked softly.

Illya kissed the top of her head.

"It's better than making love to my partner….don't you agree?" he replied with an amused tone as he tilted his head back.

Marnie looked up at the handsome blond. His head was tilted slightly to the side and something not often seen on his continence, a smile of total peace and fulfillment. He was happy when she was near. They understood one another.

"You don't have to look so smug about it," Marnie said playfully, "My Russian Bear."

Illya opened one eye and looked at her. Her hair was flopping over across her brow, a look on her face of profound happiness. The fingers of one hand pushed her hair back as his other hand held tight against her back.

With one effortless motion, he laid her back on the soft cushions of the window seat. Illya looked down into her large brown eyes. They sparkled back at him. He felt her hands pull his hips closer.

"Maybe we should be more careful," he said low, "Amy would kill me if we had a...accident."

She reached up and carefully took hold of his face. He saw something sad in her expression.

"Don't worry my love," she said sadly, "Thanks to THRUSH….well...it will never happen…with anyone."

Illya looked at her. He moved his lips to hers and kissed her passionately. He laid his face against her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I didn't know."

"Just make love to me Illya," Marnie said taking a deep shaky breath.

Astrid looked over at Mr. Waverly.

"I really should be getting back to my apartment," she said, "If THRUSH was to call or have someone come by to check on me…."

"Of course," Waverly said, "The same way you came?"

"Disguising myself was the only way I could get out. I will get any new information to you as quickly as I can and the name of the new man at the house."

Waverly nodded and walked her back to the entrance. He stepped out into the fitting room and he and Del Floria watched her ride off on the rickety bicycle.

Bill looked back at the UNCLE Chief. Waverly had a strange expression on his face.

"….As far as you can throw her?" Del Floria asked inquisitively.

"Exactly," Waverly said, "She is hiding something. I can feel it."

Waverly walked back into the reception area. He stood for a moment to ponder the strange feeling he had. He walked back to his office.

Astrid arrived to find two THRUSH guards in her apartment. After a brief struggle they finally had her subdued and on her way to the safe house. One of the guards looked at her with a disgusting smile on his face. He slid a little closer to her in the car seat.

She craned her head back and looked at him. Then suddenly she spit in his eye.

The driver continued on, taking the long, slow way back to the THRUSH house, ignoring the screams and pleas coming from the back seat. He felt the temperature in the car rise and took a deep breath in anticipation.

Finding a dark alleyway a few blocks from the house, he stopped. Astrid was screaming and beating the guard as hard as she could. She saw the second man get into the back with them. Her eyes widened and she begged for mercy as she watched the second man move closer.

A moment later everything went black.

The UNCLE agent assigned to protect Amelia Penobscot tried in vain to control his urge to laugh. He had given up trying to hide his smile as the woman went on about Napoleon when he was a child. He would have so much to tell at work his head was starting to hurt.

"Please stop here, Agent Larkin.

The agent glanced thru the windshield and saw a small haberdashery shop ahead. He pointed to it as they slowly approached.

"Here Mame?"

"Yes I need to pick a few things up for Napoleon."

They pulled up to the curb and stopped. The agent got out and opened the car door for the woman.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" the agent asked knowing full well he had to anyway.

Amy got out of the car and started towards the tiny shop.

"I don't think it's necessary but you can if you wish."

The agent locked the car and turned towards her. He saw her take the one small step up to the door.

Without warning a man coming out ran right into her, knocking her against the small section of wall next to the shop window. He immediately tried to grab hold of her, letting his own parcel fall to the steps. He held tight to her arms and steadied her.

"I am so sorry…Are you alright?" the man asked.

The young agent ran over and took hold of her.

Amy caught her breath and tried to pull her senses back together. She reached up and touched one of the other man's hands. A chill ran thru her. Looking up she saw the face of the man who had nearly trampled her.

A spark of recognition flashed in her eyes.

It had been over thirty years.

"Oh my god," Amy said her voice trembling, "I never through I would ever see you again...At least I had hoped I never would."

"Amelia?…Oh my," he said stepping back and looking at the woman, "It really is you Amelia..You look...just as beautiful as the last time I saw you…."

Amy's face blushed but she felt a tear fall on her cheek.

"Is that why you left without a word…abandoned me? Or was it because I…." the words caught in her throat.

He looked at her. His fingers reached up and touched her hair just above her temples, then drifted slowly down her silken cheek.

He tried to hold her closer but she pushed him away. Amy gave her coat a brush as if his dirt might have gotten on it. The young UNCLE agent stepped up and she took his arm.

"Are you alright?" the agent asked her low giving her arm a pat.

She nodded.

The man looked at the young man with her. Dark hair, tall, nice clothes. About thirty or thirty-one he guessed. He looked at the younger's blue-grey eyes. Almost like….. His memory flashed an image of the last time they were together.

"Amelia….I'm sorry…Can you ever forgive me?….I was a fool…"

She and her escort pushed past him and started into the tiny shop.

"I won't argue with you there, Charlie Nyman."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Something Very Strange."

Charles Nyman walked back into the THRUSH stronghold. He poured himself a large brandy and sat down next to the fireplace. His mind filled with images of the woman he had turned away from. He was somewhere far back in time when the opening of the door brought him back to the present.

"Didn't mean to interrupt you sir," Sharpton said smiling, "But Sequa has something I think you're going to want to see."

The men walk up to the third floor and into one of the small rooms.

All of the rooms in the house had been reinforced with a new THRUSH formulated concrete. Totally sound proof, escape proof. An experimental explosion, fire or even a chemical leak would be safely contained within the four walls it happened in. As Nyman had noted, it was an impressive amount of work in such a short time. Costly to be sure, but if things played out correctly it would be well worth the expense.

"What have you got?" Nyman said curtly as Sequa met them in the hallway.

The weapons expert held up a small vial. He smiled.

"This is the Dilithium Sulfite I have been working with. Odorless, tasteless and highly volatile when exposed to liquid."

He motioned Sharpton and Nyman into one of the small rooms. Switching on one of the monitors they could see the area used by the guards as a lunch room. A few minutes passed and they saw two of the men walk in and sit at the table.

One of the guards fixed his coffee from the stainless steel urn and went to sit down. He laid out his lunch and took the salt shaker giving his hardboiled egg a hefty sprinkle. The other simply grabbed a powered donut from the box next to the urn, a cup of coffee and they sat down and began to eat and talk.

"Hand me the sugar," the second said.

The guard slid the sugar container to his comrade and shook his head as the man put two heaping spoonfuls into his cup.

In a no time the two men began to feel ill. They both paled and held their stomachs.

They both took a drink, the pain intensified and both men cried out in agony.

Sequa, Sharpton and Nyman watched as the two men began to burn from the inside out. Sequa turned off the sound.

"Dilithium Sulfite mixed into the salt shakers and sprinkled on the donuts," Sequa said, "Undetectable…."

"And highly effective," Sharpton said turning from the sight on the monitor.

He looked as if he was going to be ill.

"It can be easily replicated, packaged, and sent to THRUSH locations around the world. Our people working on the inside of factories can add it to the salt supply that is shipped out for home use, even added into powder. Imagine getting out of the shower, then sprinkling down with a nice soft powder. Once it contacts the water, sweat or any moisture….."

He motioned back to the monitor. What was left of the bodies of the two men lay motionless on the floor of the room, still burning. He changed the setting on the monitor to another of the rooms. It was empty except for a few old pieces of furniture. They looked at the monitor.

"So what am I supposed to be seeing?" Nyman asked.

Sequa reached over and turned a small green knob on the control center. He handed each of the other men a pair of thick protective goggles and then slipped a pair on himself.

"Keep those on and watch," he said.

Sequa flipped a switch. For a brief moment they saw the overhead sprinkler system kick on. Then the monitor was filled with a brilliant bright light, almost as if they had witnessed and atomic blast. They felt a slight rumble in the floor but the building remained strong. Looking back at the monitor they saw the furniture in the room reduced to cinders in seconds.

"In its gas form it can be piped in anywhere, a political office, a school…..Even U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters and no one would even know. Set off the sprinklers systems and….."

"Agent Flambé," Sharpton said looking at Charlie.

"Ingenious," Nyman said, "Randolph, I have to admit this is better than we could have hoped for. I'll see to it you receive a special commendation from THRUSH for this. How long will it take to make enough of both versions to ship out?"

"The powder, we can make a thousand pounds in a week. The gas takes a bit longer but we can have enough to destroy UNCLE in about three days."

"Get on it," Nyman said.

The THRUSH looked at the monitor once again.

Very impressive work.

Charlie Nyman went back to the study. He sat once more at the large mahogany desk and folded his arms behind his head. He smiled.

A faint buzzing sound came to his ears. He reached over to what looked like a large humidor on the desk and flipped open the top. Taking out the microphone, he quickly opened out the sides of the wooden box and plug in the mic jack.

"This is Nyman," he said coolly.

"How are things progressing, Mr. Nyman?"

Charles sat up quickly and for some unexplained reason gave his tie a tug to strengthen it.

"Splendidly, sir. The house has been completely re-enforced and is ready for move-in. All the security precautions are in order and preliminary testing shows no leaks in the structure. We even had a demonstration of the room's strength by fire. The walls didn't even singe, sir. Just lost a few sticks of furniture."

"Everything sounds like it's running well and ahead of schedule. Anything that needs to be pushed?"

"Two of the, ah, "specialty" rooms are almost completed."

Nyman heard a low chuckle through the speaker.

"Specialty rooms…..I like that Nyman. Make sure each is equipped with the monitor system so our guests can see from room to room…"

"I believe that's all that needs to be finished sir," Nyman said, "The holding cell in the basement, elevator from there to the rooms, medical facilities, offices all complete. Security measures are nearly finished and in place for the bulk of the space. All windows double insulated and bullet proofed. We have a better set up then UNCLE ever dreamed of."

Nyman took a deep breath.

"And speaking of UNCLE, sir," he said slowly, "They have made no attempt to raid the house."

"You sound disappointed, Nyman!"

"Not disappointed, sir. But a little weary. Our agent on the inside has had no information to give us on why Waverly hasn't launched an attack. They know we are here, they probably know our compliment by now, but there hasn't been a single move on their part to shut us down."

"Are you sure our agent hasn't slipped over to UNCLE's side. We did disable Napoleon Solo, and he is always fair game for our agents. What about Kuryakin?"

"Waverly has been sending him out on other assignments."

"Curious. Perhaps we can find another lure for the agents in question. Family perhaps?"

"Kuryakin's family are all dead sir. Solo's parents as well. I do not believe he has any living relatives. And at last reports, neither man had any special women they were seeing. Unusual especially for Agent Solo."

"Dig man," the voice said, "Find out if anything in their backgrounds has been over looked."

"Yes sir, right away, sir…" Nyman said.

"Keep me informed, Nyman. That is what second in command does."

Nyman smiled and looked at the microphone as he heard the click of the cut connection. HE put the radio back in the wooden box and sat back in the chair once more.

"Second in Command," he said aloud to himself, "I like the sound of that."

The elder THRUSH on the other end of the call, sat back in his high wingback chair. His boney fingers gently tapped his chin.

"What are you up to Alexander?" he said slowly, "What little plan do you have in mind?"

**U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters**

Amy was visibly shaken at seeing her old beau. She was trembling and her breathing was labored. Agent Larkin made sure the man was gone before he whisked her out of the shop and back to the car. They made a be-line to UNCLE headquarters.

Larkin gave Waverly a full rundown on the strange man. Height, weight, hair, eyes etcetera. The name was unfamiliar. Charles Nyman. The chief had the name run thru the U.N.C.L.E. system.

"Here you are sir," Lisa Rogers said handing a sheet of paper to Waverly.

"Charles Richard Nyman: age 65, American…hum….Self made millionaire. World traveler, last known residence Paris, France." Waverly read, "Questioned in 1951 by Interpol for allegations of affiliation with certain underground activities. No conclusive evidence could be produced so he was released. He has remained on their watch list since that time."

"THRUSH?" Larkin asked.

"Possible...The time frame would certainly point in that direction,"

Security Chief Barker walked in with a file in hand. He handed it to Waverly.

"Surveillance photos from the THRUSH house." Barker said.

Waverly looked thru the five shots. One stopped him. He handed the photo to Larkin.

"That's him," the agent said in surprise, "That's the man who ran into Miss Penobscot."

"Something else sir…." Barker said, "The woman we were tracking….Miss Wyss…"

"Yes?" Waverly said looking up.

"We tracked her to a location five blocks from the THRUSH house, an abandoned section of buildings. She hasn't moved in the last three hours. Not even from building to building..."

Waverly stood up.

"Agent Larkin, take Agent Saunders and locate the girl. Get the last known coordinates from security. Chief Barker, notify medical and have two of your men standing by as back up. I'll notify Mr. Kuryakin, Agents Reyno and Faris of the situation."

Everyone quickly went to the task at hand. Waverly picked up his microphone.

Illya, Napoleon, Marnie and Jackie were sitting in the living room. The chirp of the communicator gave them all pause. Illya reached inside his jacket and opened the small pen.

"Channel D open…Kuryakin here…"

"Mr. Kuryakin are agents Reyno and Faris with you?"

"Yes sir, right here," the women said together.

Napoleon began to feel uneasy. He shifted his body slightly.

"Something has happened to Amy," Napoleon said low pressing his hands to his face.

On the other end Waverly smiled slightly.

"Nothing has happened to her Mr. Solo….She is a little shaken up though…It would appear that she had a run-in with an old friend…A friend who we believe now works for THRUSH.I need everyone on their toes and alert for possible THRUSH activity. Miss Penobscot is going to remain here at headquarters for a few more hours."

Larkin and Saunders followed the directions from security. They parked a few blocks away from the location of the tracking device and walked slowly and cautiously. Weapons drawn they found the alleyway from which the signal was coming.

But there was no sign of anything. No car, no THRUSH, no girl.

Larkin called in while Saunders checked around.

"Nothing Mr. Waverly," Larkin said.

Waverly was in security with Barker. He looked at the radio equipment then back at the security Chief.

"That's impossible Agent Larkin." Barker said, "According to the tracking device you're only a few feet away from her."

"David over here," Saunders called to his partner.

Larkin walked over and stooped down next to the other agent.

"Saunders found something sir," Larkin said.

"A handkerchief soaked in blood," Saunders said, carefully picking up the dry tip of the cloth.

Something fell with a light clink onto the pavement. Larkin looked at the tiny disc.

"And the tracking disk, sir," Larkin added.

Waverly and Barker looked at one another.

"Get out of there now," Barker said quickly.

Saunders took his own handkerchief and laid the bloodstained one in it. Larkin grabbed the disc with his own handkerchief and both men took off, watching closely for any signs of THRUSH.

Waverly picked up the phone and called Doctor Martz.

"The disc was surgically implanted. Where no-one would find it…" the doctor said, "I told her she needed a few stitches but that was just a cover to insert the implant."

"THRUSH found it," Waverly said, "And removed it…By force it would appear."

Martz took a deep breath.

"If that's the case, she'll be dead in a few hours," the doctor said.

The THRUSH guards dragged Astrid's limp body into the satrap. Nyman was called immediately and headed for the medical area.

"What the hell happened?" Nyman shouted looking at her.

"She's an U.N.C.L.E. agent, sir," one of the men said.

"She's a THRUSH double agent you ass," Nyman shouted giving the man a hard clout to the head.

"She has severe internal bleeding," the doctor said, "I have to go in now if there's any chance to save her."

While Astrid was being prepped for surgery, Nyman stood close by and talked to her trying to find out any information she might have acquired.

"Solo…..hidden….other agents protecting…." Her words were slow and beginning to slur.

"Kuryakin?"

"No….others….."

"Does Napoleon Solo have any other contacts? Family perhaps?"

Astrid's body drew up in pain. The doctor came in the room to give her a sedative.

"Aun….aunt….…."

"Napoleon has an aunt? Interesting. Her name?"

Astrid's eyes began to flutter as the sedative kicked in."

"A….Amy….peno….pen….."

Nyman looked taken back. He moved closer to the dying woman.

"Amy….Penobscot?"

Astrid took one last gasp of air. Was it a yes or no? Her head limped to the side. Her eyes blank.

"I hope you found out what you needed to know," Doctor Nester said.

Nyman looked at the woman. She had been the best THRUSH operative they had on both sides. If he had only found out what else she knew.

His nostrils flaring, Nyman ordered the guards who had assaulted her into the room. He had two others forcefully lay the men out on the long examination tables and strap them down.

The men looked at him.

"You two cost us our top U.N.C.L.E. informant….." Nyman looked at the doctor, "Castrate them…Both…And no anesthetic."

"What?" the men shouted.

"Let the punishment fit the crime," Nyman said. He looked at the two men standing nearby. "And let this be a warning to the rest of you."

"Yes sir," the men said standing at attention.

Doctor Nester smiled and went to retrieve his instrument tray. He was a doctor but preferred to use his skills in the line of "persuasion" rather than healing. Often operating with little to no anesthetic, knowing just how to cut into a human body with practically no blood, but plenty of pain, the masochistic maniac was perfect for the THRUSH organization.

Nyman stepped into the hallway and waited. In a few minutes, he could hear the voice of the first guard, begging the doctor to stop. His agonizing cry filled the air.

Nyman smiled and went back to the study.

"Amelia is Napoleon Solo's Aunt," he said very pleased, "This is going to be even easier than I thought."

Sharpton threw open the doors of the study and stormed in.

"What are you doing to my men?" he shouted.

"They are being punished for causing the death of our informant. Don't worry Lewis, they're not going to die, they're just going to wish they would."

"I decide what punishment my men receive," Sharpton continued, "Not you…."

"Oh shut up. You are nothing but a little toady to THRUSH. I am in command here."

Sharpton backed down. He knew the man was right.

"Have my car ready in fifteen minutes," Nyman said, "I have some scouting to do on my own."

"Yes sir," Lewis Sharpton said.

Sharpton backed out of the room and told one of the men to get the car ready.

Nyman, showered, shaved and put on his best suit. Everything ready, he left the safe house and headed towards Fifth Avenue.

Napoleon was getting agitated being confined to the apartment. He was driving Illya crazy and even the two women were slowly getting annoyed.

He sat on the sofa, leaning forward on the cane he was being forced to use. Solo was nervously biting at the side of his knuckle, a habit he had never quiet broken.

Illya sat across from him, staring at his partner. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The Russian turned his head to the side and continued to watch. He carefully reached into the floor and picked up a rubber ball belonging to the dog.

Napoleon slowly weaved back and forth on the cane bored by the quiet.

Illya raised the ball and gave it a sudden throw towards Solo.

Napoleon's cane fell to the floor and he bent down to pick it up.

The ball sailed passed his head and hit the wall.

Solo sat up quickly, turning his head from side to side.

"What was that noise?" he asked.

"Just playing with the dog," Illya said.

Solo's mouth twisted slightly.

"Right….In the first place you hate dogs, in the second, Tag isn't even in the room."

Illya looked at him and smiled.

"How do you know Tag isn't here?"

Napoleon raised his hand a tapped the end of his nose with his finger.

There was a knock on the door. Illya went to answer. He checked the view and opened the door for Jackie and Tag.

"Marnie is checking the rest of the floor," Jackie said, "Amy should be arriving back at any time."

She nodded towards Napoleon. Illya lifted his hands and made the motion of claws. He made a soft hissing sound. Jackie couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm glad someone is having fun," Napoleon shouted, laying his head back on the sofa.

"How about a walk?" Jackie said, "Nowhere far just a few floors, maybe down to the lobby?"

"Good idea," Illya said, "He's already to go."

Kuryakin grabbed his partner and pulled him off the sofa. He gave Solo a shove towards the woman.

"Take it easy," Napoleon said giving his shoulders a shrug.

Jackie picked up a leash and snapped it on Tag's collar. The dog whined a bit, but finally accepted it. The other end she slipped over Napoleon's wrist.

"This way you won't need the cane," she whispered in his ear. She gave his cheek a quick kiss.

Jackie took his arm. Napoleon felt the tug around his wrist and they were off, out the door and down the hallway and into the elevator. It wasn't much but at least he was out of the apartment.

Marnie had finished her security sweep of the last few floors and was checking the lobby. The elevator doors opened and she saw Tag dragging Napoleon behind him. Jackie was trying to hold them both, but the dog had obviously picked up something and instinct told him to follow.

She watched as agent a dog made their way to the revolving door. Tag got in one and poor Napoleon ended up jammed in the section behind him. The leash tightened around his wrist, but Solo was wedged in the door. To pull it back would trap the SAR dog between the door and the frame.

Jackie, Marnie and the desk clerk rushed over to help. Jackie used the side door and went outside trying to push Tag back into the space, but the dog only pulled tighter.

Napoleon was in severe pain as the pressure of the door built and the circulation in his wrist decreased.

A car pulled up outside. One of the young U.N.C.L.E. agents stepped around the vehicle and opened the door for Amy. She tried to hide her smile as she saw her nephew trapped in the door and the dog pulling to get out.

Jackie managed to get her hand inside the door and unhooked the leash. In a flash Tag leapt from the door, and rushed down the alleyway beside the building, barking loudly. Jackie turned and followed him.

Napoleon felt the tension drop and moved inside the door turning it slowly until he felt the cool afternoon air. He felt someone take his arm.

"Are you alright Napoleon?" Amy asked.

"I am now," he said smiling as he felt her hand rub the red ring around his wrist.

Another car pulled up just to the side of Amy's. A very well dressed man got out and walked towards the revolving door.

Thru the glass Marnie saw the man stop and speak to Amy. She clutched Napoleon's arm and started to push past. The other U.N.C.L.E. agent stepped up. The young woman made her way quickly to the door, reaching for her weapon as she moved.

In one motion the U.N.C.L.E. agent who had driven the car went to his knees, blood pooling at the base of his neck from the blow. The man grabbed Amy and Napoleon and with the help of another man who quickly emerged from the alley, they managed to get them inside the car.

Marnie burst thru the door gun drawn.

She saw the man in the car hold a gun to Amy's head.

As the car sped away, Tag and Jackie came out of the alley. The dog took off in pursuit of the vehicle.

Marnie fired off a few shots that merely bounced off the car.

As the vehicle turned an abrupt corner, Tag let out a loud yelp. The two women ran down the sidewalk in the direction the car had gone.

Jackie saw her four legged partner limping up the sidewalk, making small yelping sounds. He was gingerly putting on leg down only to lift it quickly back from the pavement. He was swaying slightly, dazed no doubt from the impact with the car. She quickly picked him up giving the animal a reassuring nudge with her face.

Marnie skidded to a stop at the corner. She looked up the empty street.

No car.

No Amy.

And no Napoleon.

She quickly radioed in

"What do you want Charlie?" Amy cried clutching her nephew's arm.

"I can't let you go again," Nyman said sarcastically, "I had no idea you had such a famous nephew Amelia. And what about my son? Is he a U.N.C.L.E. agent as well?"

Amy buried her face in Napoleon's arm. He could feel her shaking.

"Leave her alone, Nyman," Solo said, "If you want me fine, but leave her alone."

Charlie Nyman made a small laugh and rolled his eyes.

"Come now Mr. Solo, you of all people know that is not possible. Besides she and I have a history. As much as I would love to rekindle that passion, it's going to be up to her how much you have to endure. So Amelia did you keep it? Or did you even have it? Not a very nice thing to do you know….Only little whor..."

Napoleon's fist flew past his aunt into the side of Nyman's face. The window caught the other side.

Nyman quickly regained his senses. He reached over and pulled Amy away from Napoleon's grasp. Solo heard the woman scream.

"Once more, Mr. Solo.." Nyman shouted, "And I'll kill her right here, right now."

He tightened his grip on Amy. She screamed again.

"Don't hurt her," Napoleon pleaded, "Don't hurt her….Please."

Nyman smiled and gave Amy a kiss on the cheek.

"Your nephew has more brains then I gave him credit for."

Amy looked at the hopeless expression on Napoleon's face. She knew that he was going to die at this man's hand. And possibly herself as well. She shuttered.

"Please, Charlie," she said, her voice trembling, "At least let me sit with Napoleon."

Nyman let her go.

She slipped up close to Solo and put one arm around his shoulder. Her other hand gently pulled his face close and rested it against her shoulder.

"I should be holding you like this," Napoleon whispered low.

Amy kissed his forehead.

She reached over and slid his arm around her waist.

"Don't worry," Napoleon said, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"What Goes Around.."

Waverly sat bolt upright in his chair.

"Say that again, Mr. Kuryakin."

"They took Miss Penobscot as well….She was arriving at the building as Napoleon was going out. THRUSH has them both."

Everything went quiet on the other end. Illya looked at the two female agents.

"This changes everything," Waverly said, "I want the three of you to return to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters immediately."

"Yes sir…We're on the way. Kuryakin out." He closed the pen and returned it to his pocket.

Marnie looked at Illya with a shocked expression on her face. Return to U.N.C.L.E? With Napoleon and her mother in the hands of THRUSH, Waverly wanted them to return to headquarters? She checked her clip and started to walk off.

"Where do you think you're going?" Illya asked stepping in front of her to block her retreat.

"I'm going after them," Marnie said, trying to get past him.

He blocked her movements.

"Don't make me have to hurt you, Mr. Kuryakin," she said glaring at him.

Illya smiled one of those rare, amused, smiles and in one swift motion, took hold of both of her wrist. The Russian casually picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Her protest went unheeded as they left for headquarters.

The tension around the conference room table was high. Barker and Waverly went over every aspect of what had happened so far.

"I do not believe Miss Penobscot is in any immediate danger," Waverly said, "Nyman may use her to intimidate Mr. Solo…"

"Why haven't we been allowed to run on the THRUSH satrap, Sir?" Kuryakin asked.

The Russian knew it was over stepping a bit. He saw Waverly's expression turn deadly serious.

Barker looked at the UNCLE Chief. Waverly nodded to the head of security.

The back panel that separated Waverly's office and communications room, from the main conference room, hissed as it slipped shut. Everyone heard the door seal. There was another hiss as the main door became pressurized and locked. The room was now totally sealed off from everything in the building.

Barker walked over to a small metal cabinet just behind Waverly's chair. He punched in his silent code and they heard a click as the cabinet unlocked. The Security Chief took out a large thick folder and brought it to the table.

Waverly broke the seal and opened the file. He handed Barker two transparent sheets. The head of security slipped them into the projector at the other end of the room. He walked back and pulled the screen down.

Two different images came up on the screen. Photos of the THRUSH safe house were on one side, a detailed blue print of its interior on the other.

"These were taken from the micro-dot you gentlemen retrieved on your last mission. Section 3 has managed to decipher most of the code on the remaining documents pertaining to the house and THRUSH's "ambitions"."

Illya, Marnie and Jackie looked closely at the drawing.

"THRUSHs weapons man, Randolph Sequa has been experimenting with DS that much we already know. We found the power form on the ammunition clip of Mr. Solo's gun. He has not only managed to reduce it to a powder form, but according to the reports is attempting to make a gas version as well. This we can only assume is to be used in another attempt to wipe out U.N.C.L.E. headquarters."

"Our Lab technicians have assured us that such an attack on U.N.C.L.E. would be useless. The air ventilation system is too advanced. It would be able to detect the gas and shut out any contaminates. With the thickness of the inner walls and the layer of asbestos between the inner and outer walls of the building, THRUSH would almost have to drop it in bomb form to even make a dent," Barker said

"Charles Nyman has been sent to check the new operation and the progress of the research," Waverly said, "The information we have indicates that once we have been taken out, THRUSH is setting up a nest of its own here in New York, to act as its first permanent base of operations in the United States."

"THRUSH has never had a permanent location anywhere," Illya said studying the blueprint.

"Quite right Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly continued, "That is one of the reasons we have had difficulties with finding their main control center…Thanks to an accidental discovery by Mr. Solo we are in a position to get the next best thing…."

Alexander Waverly looked at the photo staring at him from the file. He felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck as he stared back at the cold dark eyes. He took the photo and handed it Barker.

The photo came up on the screen. The face was ancient. The photo slightly blurred as it had been obtained from quite a distance and enlarged. The man in the photo looked old and tired. His gnarled hands and slightly hunched posture made him look at least ten years older than his actual age. When in fact he was only a few months older than Waverly himself.

Even in the blur of the photo, the man's dark eyes seemed to stare right through you. His once black hair was streaked with grey and his pencil thin mustache was nearly lost in the wrinkled skin around his mouth and nose.

"Sleazy looking guy," Jackie said, "You almost expect him to reach up and give the tip of that mustache a twist."

Waverly looked at her and smiled slightly.

"He use to do exactly that," the Chief said, "He has been a thorn in U.N.C.L.E.'s side since the inception of the organization. He is a cold blooded murderer, a traitor to his country. We had him once, but he was liberated by another party and has been on THRUSH's payroll ever since."

Waverly handed them photos of the man when he was younger and copies of the latest photo.

"His name, or the name he has used for the last thirty-three years, is Karl Liventon. He is the last of THRUSH's five original operatives…." Waverly continued.

Kuryakin felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck. Waverly pressed his palms flat on the table top, leaning towards his agents. His eyes narrowed slightly. Although the air in the room was warm, everyone seemed to feel a chill run through them.

"…..and the current head of all THRUSH operations in the Northwest sector."

Amy pounded on the heavy wooden door. She tried frantically to turn the brass knobs, but the door was locked. Turning around, she leaned back against the door and looked across the dimly lit room.

"All that energy," Nyman said taking a sip of Brandy, "Wasted on a door. Now that you know you are here to stay, have a seat…Can I offer you a Brandy?"

"What do you mean by "here to stay"?"

Charlie Nyman stood up and strolled over to the wet bar. He poured out a second snifter of Brandy and walked over to the woman. Amy's hand was shaking as she took the glass.

"What shall we drink to, my dear Amy?" Nyman said, "To us? To what we once meant to one another? To what we will become? I can make your life a paradise or a living hell, your choice."

Amy looked down at the crystal snifter in her hand. She gave the elixir inside a soft swish, and then threw it in Charles Nyman's face.

"You've already made it a hell," she said, "You were scum then and, unlike the Brandy, you haven't improved over the years."

To her surprise, Nyman simply smiled and took the handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the Brandy from his face and shoved the cloth into his pocket once more. Amy watched him carefully as he walked across the room to a large cabinet.

He opened the doors, reveling what looked like a large television screen inside. After a few switches where flipped on and a few other adjustment were made, the screen began to pop with static. The wavy lines began to slowly clear.

"Let me re-phrase that then…..I can make your life a paradise…."

Amy looked as the screen cleared. She could see Napoleon on the screen. He was stretched out and shackled down on a metal cot, the bare springs exposed. They had taken his shirt off and his bare back was flat against the springs. She saw two of the men remove his trousers leaving the agent in his underwear.

"…..or his a living Hell…" Nyman said. He pressed a button on the monitor. "Proceed, gentlemen."

One of the THRUSH guards looked into the camera and gave a nod.

Amy felt her heart move to her throat. What were they going to do to her wonderful Napoleon? Electrocution perhaps? Were they going to beat him? She knew what THRUSH was capable of. She had seen already what they had done to him.

To her horror she saw the springs of the bed being slowly pulled down at several different points. Napoleon's body moved down with them as well. The agent could feel the metal springs expanding beneath him. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for what was about to happen.

Amy screamed as the springs released and snapped back into place. She could see Napoleon's face twisted in agony as large sections of his skin became caught in the metal. His body twitched and it took his last ouch of willpower not to cry out. She saw small pools of blood on the floor below the cot. Her hands instinctively reach towards the screen.

"Napoleon!...Oh, Napoleon…" Amy cried. She pressed her face to the cold glass screen.

"Crude but effective, THRUSH old school, brought back by our current boss. Sometimes the simplest tactics work the best," Nyman said smiling sickly.

Amy, her face still pressed to the screen, felt tears fell on her cheeks.

The THRUSH stood to the side, his arms folded. He casually lifted his snifter once more and took a sip.

"This wouldn't have been nearly as gratifying without you here, Amy," he said, "Now maybe you'll comprehend the position you are in..."

Napoleon's aunt could see the pain on her Nephew's face. She saw his face turn slightly towards the camera, not an easy task as his hair was also trapped in the springs. She looked into his eyes.

"I'm here Napoli, everything is going to be alright," she heard herself whisper as she stroked the face on the screen; "Everything is going to be alright."

Napoleon Solo felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach, his thoughts only on his aunt. Where was she? What was happening to her? His own pain he could push aside, but the thought that THRUSH might do something to her….

Nyman stepped up behind the woman and put his hands on her shoulders. Amy trembled as his face came closer to hers.

"Charlie, let him go….please," she sobbed, "I'll do whatever you want...Just make them release Napoleon."

Nyman smiled. His hand reached around and he flipped a small switch.

"Retract the springs," he said, "Take Solo to a holding room."

They watched as the metal springs were pulled apart once more. Two of the guards released the chains around his wrist and ankles and lifted him off the springs. Slipping his trousers back on, they turned his back to the camera as they started to put his shirt back on him.

Amy felt sick at the sight. Nyman turned off the camera. He sat his glass down and put both hands on the woman's shoulders pulling her close. The THRUSH felt her tremble as he held her.

"I want to see Napoleon," she said her voice cracking slightly.

"Of course," Nyman replied.

He led her back to the desk and picked up the phone.

"Lewis….Can you come in here?" he said.

There was a muffled sound on the other end. And Charlie hung up the phone. Within a few minutes the door opened and Lewis Sharpton walked in.

"Lewis I want you to take Miss Penobscot up to the holding cell. She wants to see Mr. Solo."

Sharpton gave his boss a strange look. What was he now a fetch and carry? A go-fer? Before Nyman arrived there he was in charge, now he was nothing but another THRUSH lackey.

"Yes sir," Sharpton said a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "Would she like a cup of tea while she's visiting?"

"You know, Lewis," Nyman said coolly, "Sequa still needs more "volunteers" for his DS experiments. How would you like to be one?"

Sharpton took the woman by the arm, mumbled something low to himself and led her from the room.

Amy noted that the house was very deceiving in appearance. From the outside it looked like a simple Manhattan townhouse, stuck in-between several others on the block. But inside in was large open and airy.

They stepped out of the front office into the grand foyer. A beautiful crimson red Persian rug covered most of the floor and in the center a heavy maple table stood beneath the ornate chandelier. The light fixtures along the wall matched the opulence of the crystal hanging from the high ceiling and the light was low, creating a strange sense of calm.

The large marble staircase wound around the curved walls. The steps were partially covered with a heavy hunter green velvet carpet, long brass rods holding in firmly in place at the base of each step. The walls were covered in various paintings many of them work of the old masters.

Only when they reached the second floor did she realize why the place looked so much bigger inside as it did from the outside. The buildings on both sides had been opened to accommodate offices, and various other spaces. She was surprised at how much it resembled U.N.C.L.E. headquarters

One more floor and she could see a large desk positioned at the end of the hallway. They walked to it.

"Nyman said to let her see Solo," Sharpton said.

The THRUSH behind the desk pressed a small release button and the door behind him opened. Amy and Sharpton walked into the dimly lit hallway lined with prison styled doorways. They walked a few yards and stopped.

"There he is," Sharpton said, "Enjoy."

Lewis turned and walked away leaving the woman standing at the bars.

Napoleon lay on the small cot against the wall, his back to the cell doors.

Amy felt her heart sink. She could see small patches of red dotting the back of Napoleon's shirt and trousers. She watched the slow movements of his shoulder and arm as he made each breath full and deliberate as if each would be his last.

"Ti amo, Napoli. La mia dolce, dolce Napoli." ("I love you, Napoli. My sweet, sweet Napoli.") Amy said low.

"Je t'aime aussi, tante Amy.

Napoleon slowly rolled over on his stomach. He laid there for a moment, giving the pain a chance to lessen then he rolled to his other side.

"Are you alright?" he said low, "They haven't hurt you have they?"

"I'm alright Napoleon," she said smiling, "Just worried about you, my pet."

"Aunt Amy, I want you to promise me something," Napoleon said, cringing slightly from the pain, "No matter what they say or do to me….Don't give into them. U.N.C.L.E. is watching our backs. Mr. Waverly isn't going to let anything happened to you."

Amy smiled at him. Always her brave Napoleon. She took off her coat, folded it and placed it on the floor next to the door, sitting down in the floor next to the cell. She laid her face against the cold iron bars and stared at her strong nephew. Strong yes, but for how much longer.

Sharpton walked back down the stairs. As he stepped off the last step, a guard walked out of the operations room at the base of the stairs. They nearly collided. The young man stopped in his tracks.

"What's the big hurry, Martin?" Sharpton asked.

"Sir, we just received this message from….him, sir."

Sharpton took the paper from the flabbergasted young man.

"Holy crap," Sharpton said, "He's coming two weeks early...He'll be here tomorrow afternoon. Not a word of this to anyone do you understand?"

The young guard saluted and turned, quickly heading back into the room.

Sharpton started towards the front office then stopped. A slick smile crossed his thin lips. Should he tell Nyman that the big boss was coming earlier than expected or let him be caught off guard?

Nyman walked out of this office and saw him standing there with the paper in his hand.

"What's that?" he said snatching the paper from the other man's grasp. He looked it over. "Why didn't you bring this straight in to me?"

"Martin just handed it to me a moment ago," he stammered, "I was…"

"Trying to decide whether or not to pass it along.." Nyman said staring him down.

"No Charlie….I.."

"Martin!" Nyman shouted, "Out here on the double!"

The startled young THRUSH operative ran from the communications room, his headphones still intact, and the long cord dangling to his side. He stopped before the two men and quickly saluted his superiors.

"Yes sir," the young man said.

"When did this come in?"

Nyman handed the guard the paper.

"Approximately six minutes ago…Sir."

"Why didn't you bring it to me?"

"I was bringing it to you when Mr. Sharpton came into the hallway," Martin said, "He asked why I was in a hurry. I told him about the message…"

"What did he say about it?"

Sharpton glared at the younger man. Martin began to sweat and swallowed the large knot in his throat.

"He told me….he told me….not to say a word to anyone about it. I assumed he meant just the guards sir, not you as well," Martin stammered.

Nyman saw the look on Sharpton's face. He dismissed the young guard who, wisely, backed away and into the communications room. Charlie turned to his second in command. He stared at the other man as he tapped the message paper in his hand.

"Well?" Nyman said.

"He's lying, Charlie," Sharpton said, "The dirty little…"

"At the risk of being shot….or worse. I have no doubt you told him to keep quiet about this. That's two, Lewis. And that is two too many. I'll let Mr. Liventon decide what to do with you. There aren't a lot of options you know, demotion, as I said before, Randolph can always use new volunteers….or my personal favorite, annihilation."

Nyman started up the stairs towards the holding cells.

Amy was startled by the touch of a hand on her cheek. She could still feel the cold bars against her skin as her eyes opened. She reached up to move it only to find the hand attached to Napoleon. He had made his way from the cot to the bars. She smiled at him.

"How did you find your way over to the bars?" she whispered.

Napoleon smiled and raised a finger to his lips. He leaned as close to her as possible.

"I put some things in your coat pocket when we were in the car," he said quietly, "Can you get them for me?"

Amy slipped the coat out from under her and found the pocket he was referring to. In it she found his communicator pen, a watch, a small packet of grey clay and a tiny white plastic box. She handed them to Napoleon. He slipped the plastic box back into her hand.

"Just in case," he whispered.

"What is this?"

She opened the box and saw the two small white capsules. A chill ran down her spine. She looked into his face.

"Napoleon…You don't think…"

"No….But just in case," he said as he opened the communicator pen, "Open channel D..Code red..repeat code red….Priority one."

There was a faint hum. It was taking the signal a bit of time to penetrate the barriers in the wall.

"Channel D open….Waverly here….." the voice was faint and kept breaking up.

"Stand by…someone's coming," Napoleon said, "Keeping line open...Go to mute.."

Napoleon covered the microphone with his hand as he heard voices at the end of the hallway. He quickly slipped the open pen to his aunt and she concealed it. Solo tucked the watch and clay into his pants pocket and made his way back to the cot.

The hallway door opened and Nyman stepped in.

"That stupid jackass," he mumbled as he came closer to the cell. He helped Amy stand. "When I told him to bring you here I meant to actually let you into the cell….Come my dear, I am having a sumptuous dinner prepared. Important things going on here tomorrow and I want you ready. Don't worry about Napoleon, his dinner will be brought to him."

Amy looked back and saw Napoleon nod his head slightly. She folded her beautiful light blue coat over her arm. Nyman led her down the hallway and out through the door towards his private chambers.

Charlie Nyman opened the door of his sitting room. Low lights, a beautiful table laid out, and a small rolling table with dinner sitting next to it. It did smell delicious.

He helped her to her seat.

After serving his guest, Nyman took a seat across from her. He raised his glass in a toast to her. Amy remembered what Napoleon had said, and remembered that the communicator pen was still transmitting. She acknowledged his toast.

"You said something important was going to happen tomorrow?" she asked softly as she took a bite of her meal.

Nyman swallowed his mouth full of food and washed it down with the wine. He nodded.

"Important is an understatement," he said, "A very important man is paying us a visit tomorrow…To see the setup here and a small demonstration of our effectiveness…..Don't worry…He is looking forward to meeting Napoleon.."

Waverly looked at Illya and the two women in his office. He felt a twinge in his neck. Liventon was coming ahead of schedule. The U.N.C.L.E. Chief had great confidence in his agents' abilities to be ready. The ones briefed for this particular operation were immediately called into service.

"I need the three of you to coordinate with the other agents on this affair. Meet them in the security conference room for briefing and make sure they are all supplied with the proper equipment. Mr. Kuryakin I want you to coordinate the field operation. You will be the main point of contact for the agents."

At this Illya looked a bit uneasy. He had no problem with the assignment, but Waverly usually did the field coordination from the office. He looked at his boss.

"I will meet you in security," Waverly said.

Barker and the three agents nodded. They turned and quickly left for the security office to meet the others. For a few moments Alexander Waverly just stood and looked at the photos from the folder. He closed it and put the file away in the locked metal box. He took off his jacket and carefully placed it over the back of his chair. His hand brushed across the console on the table, and then he pressed one of the buttons.

"I need you to come to my office," he said firmly.

"On my way," the other voice said.

The U.N.C.L.E. Chief took a deep breath and opened his private office. He walked in and stepped up to his closet. His hands took hold of the two handles and for a few seconds he simply held them, his head bowed slightly. Another deep breath and he opened the doors.

His tan cashmere coat hung to one side of the open space. The other was set up as a locker. Two small shelves were at the top with a locked drawer beneath, one long open space below that. He reached into the open space and removed a well worn leather shoulder holster. His fingers caressed the soft leather a few times and he carefully slipped it over his shoulders.

It still fit like a glove, after all these years. Once it was secured, he removed a set of keys from his pocket and opened the locked drawer. Waverly looked at the contents.

An old Webley laid patiently waiting for its owner to recall it to duty. It was carefully placed on top of a neatly wrapped square of tissue paper which was protecting something more precious to the man then the weapon. And just below the ribbon holding the package secured was an old faded photo.

The photo was grey and had small flecks missing here and there. But the picture had retained most of its sharpness over the years. An old Vickers MK IV airplane took up most of the photo. In the seat behind the pilots, leaning carefully over the edge was a young boy about fourteen years old, his arms folded to support him, his tweed newsboy cap pushed back to show his beaming face. Beside him was a tall handsome flyer, dressed in black boots and light flight trousers, his leather jacket unzipped his white silk scarf blurred from blowing in the light breeze. His leather flight cap hung loose, the goggles holding tight to his forehead.

The photo slipped into his shirt pocket, the Webley into the holster. He heard the door open and turned.

Bill Del Floria was taken back to see his old friend with the Webley. He watched Alexander slip his suite jacket back on as he crossed to the table.

"Alexander?"

Waverly stepped back to the closet and took the small package wrapped in tissue out. His fingers brushed across the paper a few times as he looked down at it. He pressed it firmly between his palms.

"He's back Willie…." Waverly said slowly.

Del Floria's mouth dropped open.

"He can't be…Certainly he must be dead by now…"

Waverly folded the tissue paper package over and put it in his pocket. He walked over and took the photo from the file.

"He is using another name now but it is him..." Waverly said pushing the photo to his old partner.

Willie Del Floria looked at the face in the photo and then looked up at Waverly.

"Bartomal Santar," both men said together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"**What the Blind Man Saw."**

Nyman brushed the napkin over his lips and took one last sip of wine. He turned his head slightly and looked at Amy. A smile crossed his lips.

"It's absolutely amazing," he said, "I swear you haven't changed in any way since I last saw you."

Amy gave him a sarcastic smile.

"So what you're saying is I looked like an old lady back then."

"Not at all," Nyman said laughing, "Still have the same dry sense of humor too. Amy, I want you to stay here with me. Be at my side, for me, not for THRUSH."

"Sorry, Charlie."

"Let me sweeten the deal. Stay with me for support and company. No hanky panky I promise and I'll see to it Napoleon lives to a ripe old age."

Amy looked at her old beau. Was he lying again or could he really do what he said? She remembered the two capsules in her pocket.

"How?"

"He'll be kept under THRUSH security in this location, given nice but escape proof quarters. He'll remain a prisoner of THRUSH, but he will live. No more torture. No more using him as a guinea-pig. And you can see him whenever you like."

Amy began to tremble. What a choice. If she said no, she was sure they would kill her nephew without hesitation. But to say yes was to doom them both to a life, if it could be called that, without freedom. Then she remembered what Napoleon had told her. U.N.C.L.E. had their backs. Anything to stall.

"If I agree, how do I know you'll keep up your end of the bargain?" she said, her voice cracking.

Nyman stood up and took her arm. She was still shaking so he carefully wrapped her coat around her shoulders. They walked out of the study and up to the holding cell.

"We will go right now and move him to better quarters," Nyman said, "That is if you question indicates a yes."

Amy felt tears stream down her cheeks as she shook her head in agreement.

Napoleon lay shivering on his cot in the cold room. He heard the cell door open and turned his head towards the sound. As footsteps approached, he sat up quickly. A hand touched his shoulder.

The agent drew his fist back to strike. Two soft hands quickly enveloped his fist.

"It's me Napoleon," Amy whispered, "You're alright, it's me."

Napoleon wrapped his arms around her and held tight.

"Ive been so worried about you," he whispered, "Are you alright? They haven't hurt you have they?"

"Solo, your aunt has come to a decision. A rather wise decision I may add."

"Napoleon, Charlie said if I promise to stay here…..He will let you live…But here, in their headquarters for the rest of your life."

Napoleon began to shake his head. He softly mumbled the word no over and over.

"I told him…I would.."

She held him tight as she cried out in anguish.

"I don't want to see you die, Napoleon," she said trying to control him.

Illya softly but firmly pounded his fist a few times against the metal panel. Marnie looked at him. She and Illya had been monitoring the transmissions from the communicator pen in the security communications room next to Chief Barker's office.

"She is one cool cucumber," Marnie said smiling for the first time in hours.

Waverly walked up and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Maybe we should offer her a spot at U.N.C.L.E. after this," Waverly said, a lilt in his voice.

Illya even cracked something resembling a smile at the Chiefs remark.

"What's happening so far?" Waverly asked.

"Nyman said he would let Napoleon live if Miss Penobscot agreed to stay with him. She said yes," Illya said.

"Well yes sort of," Marnie said looking at the Chief, "But Nyman took it that way. They are going to move Solo to a secured but more comfortable area according to Nyman."

"Good. That at least is a good indication that he isn't planning to harm her in anyway. Anything else on the arrival of Liventon?"

"Nothing so far, sir."

"Alright. I want security to continue monitoring the transmission. Mr. Kuryakin, Agent Faris get some rest so you will be able to function properly when the time comes to move."

"Excuse me sirs," Barker said, poking his head in the office door.

Illya turned around. It was only then that he noticed Del Floria was with the U.N.C.L.E. Chief. Waverly noticed the expression on the Russian's face. Even Marnie was a bit confused as to why the U.N.C.L.E. front man was there.

The two elder UNCLE men turned and walked out. Chief Barker's number two man walked in and took over the radio.

Illya and Marnie looked at each other a moment. They suddenly felt less like agents and more like two children being sent to their rooms. In the back of their minds they knew the chief was right and they needed to rest. They headed down to Kuryakin's office and made use of the small sofa with Illya at one end and Marnie at the other. Under other circumstances things might have been different.

Waverly and Del Floria stood in the security Chief's office. Barker paced back and forth a few times then finally stopped in front of his boss.

"Permission to speak freely sir," Barker said.

"Of course, Chief Barker," Waverly replied.

"Sir I wish you would reconsider this," Barker said, "You have put yourself on the line too many times for my taste and I don't believe you should now."

"I appreciate your concern Chief Barker," Alexander Waverly said calmly, "But there is no alternative. I have to do what I have to do, regardless of the consequences. I am U.N.C.L.E. Chief in mind and body, and a U.N.C.L.E. agent at heart."

Barker felt himself smile inside. He knew that it didn't matter what he or anyone else said. Waverly had the final say and that was that.

"Will you at least take my advice then?" Barker asked.

Waverly smiled and nodded. He and Bill followed the Security Chief out of the office and down the hall.

Several hours passed.

**6:33 am**

The sound of the phone woke the U.N.C.L.E. Chief. He sat up on the comfortable sofa in his office and picked up the receiver.

"This is Mr. Waverly."

"Sir..This is Agent Harbour in the security com…We just picked up over the radio that Liventon will be arriving sometime later this afternoon. Also, Mr. Solo has been moved and secured. He was able to secure a tracking devise to Miss Penobscot and will try to contact us again within the next half hour with Intel."

"Very good Agent Harbour. I will be there shortly. Notify Mr. Kuryakin. He should be in his office."

Waverly hung up the phone. He woke Del Floria who was across the room on another sofa. After a quick freshen up they went to the communications room. When they arrived Barker was already there trying to get a clear signal from Solo.

"Are you sure the room isn't bugged?" Barker asked.

"I have checked the room. There are no bugs, but there is a camera in the room. The bathroom is the only place that is totally clear….."

"Good to hear you voice Mr. Solo," Waverly said, "What have you got for us?"

"The individual room walls are thicker than most. Two layers of concrete, layer of steel between, outer walls steel. Same for the floors and ceilings. The place is built like a bomb shelter. One of the rooms we passed was charred inside. Some of their grunts were trying to clean it out. My guess is the seemingly normal rooms can withstand any type of outward attack or be used as a sealed testing room. I would say their attempts to develop the DS gas have been successful…"

"They seal off the room, pump in the gas on their unknowing subjects…" Barker said.

"Set off the sprinkler system and…Looks like THRUSH has picked up a lot of nasty habits from their predecessors," Napoleon said softly.

Illya and Marnie walked into the communications room.

"What is the situation with yourself and Miss Penobscot?"

"Right now we are both reasonably okay. Nyman seems to be infatuated with my Aunt and she is playing up to him very well. A very brave woman. However that may change when the top THRUSH man gets here….."

"Anything else about the building we should know?" Waverly asked.

"The blueprints we retrieved are exactly as laid out. It's pretty tight. But not impossible to penetrate. The head man's office is located on the west side, ground floor, just down the hallway from their main entrance. Sitting room, sleeping quarters etcetera. On the main floor of the center building is the com room and another office at the front that Nyman usually occupies. Staircase is open. All upper level rooms are storage, lab, operative quarters and so on. "

There was a distant pounding sound.

"What's that noise?" Waverly asked.

"Sounds like they're going floor to floor testing the hall structure….Someone is at the door. Solo out."

"Napoleon's senses are either better in tune then I thought or…." Illya started.

"We had to get him back inside, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, "It was Mr. Solo's idea to fain blindness. He wanted to convince everyone and remain convincing once he was back inside."

Illya tried to suppress his smile. He remembered the incident in the apartment with the dog ball. He thought then that something strange was going on. It was just too coincidental that Solo dropped his cane as Illya threw the ball towards him. He had to admire his partner's nerve as well as his acting.

"Mr. Kuryakin, get you men organized. Notify me as soon as they are assembled and ready," Waverly said.

The compliment of agents was in place. Each knew the danger they were facing. They quickly geared up slipping small filtered ventilators around their necks, tucking them inside the collars of their fire resistant suits. Jackie, Tag and Marnie joined them.

"You all know what to do," Illya said, "We will rendezvous at the THRUSH safe house in one hour. Your first priority is to find Mr. Solo and Miss Penobscot. Agent Reyno and Tag will go with you now. Tag should be able to pick up Solo's scent and alert you to any dangers. Security is tracking a homing signal which we know is on Miss Penobscot's person. "

The door opened and the agents looked to see their Chief and Bill Del Floria walk in.

"This is not going to be easy," Waverly said, "Once inside use the filters at all times. If your mask or your partners turns orange that means the Dilithium Sulfate gas has been released. Get out of the area as quickly as possible. This is no ordinary affair gentlemen, and ladies. Remember, these THRUSHES are the cream of the crop. Good luck."

Illya dismissed the agents. Jackie and Tag went with the first group. Illya motioned for the second group to follow. He and Marnie started towards the door.

Waverly and Del Floria were gone. Like phantoms. There one second, gone the next.

Barker stepped up as Illya looked into the hallway.

"Mr. Kuryakin, do everything possible to protect our people, but remember…Your Chief's life is first and foremost you priority."

Illya nodded and he and Marnie took off towards their car.

Napoleon lay in the bed and snored lightly. He heard the door open and footsteps approached him. But to his surprise there was no rude awakening. No dragging from his bed. Only the appetizing smell of fresh coffee.

"Napoleon….Napoleon wake up," Amy said.

Solo yawned and stretched his arms out. He gave his head a rub, his hair flopping in different directions.

"Aunt Amy?" he asked.

She gently kissed his cheek.

"I brought you some breakfast. Coffee, toast, eggs and bacon."

Napoleon sat up as she put the tray across his lap.

"What time is it?"

"Twenty of seven…They want us fed and ready when this other man shows up. Oh Napoleon, I'm so frightened. I don't trust Nyman or any of these people. The food is alright though; I made it myself just to be sure."

Napoleon smiled and took the coffee cup. Amy watched him closely as he found everything on the plate with no problems. She raised one eyebrow.

"Napoleon?"

"I love the fact that you always put food on the plate the same way every time," he said smiling, "You spoiled me as a kid and as an adult."

Amy reached up and put her hand gently on his cheek. She looked into his eyes and smiled.

"Amy, I need to talk to you about something important…." Napoleon whispered.

They sat and talked for two hours.

The sounds of panicked shouting filled the hallway. Amy and Napoleon went to the door. They could hear orders being shouted from hallway to hallway. Heavy boots pounded the metal floor.

They could hear Nyman's frantic voice barking out orders and Sharpton's nervous replies.

"U.N.C.L.E.?" Amy said.

"I don't think so…This sounds more like panic. I wonder if their guest arrived early." Napoleon replied.

Downstairs, the elder man stood at the large wooden table in the center of the entryway. His aid removed his hat and coat and handed the old man his leather briefcase.

Liventon looked at his watch.

Nyman came quickly down the stairs, nearly headfirst. He struggled to adjust his tie and jacket as he cleared the last step, twisting his ankle slightly as he hit the marbled floor. But he didn't let the pain show.

"Mr. Liventon…Sir….What an unexpected surprise," he stammered, "We weren't expecting you until this afternoon…Sir."

"So I see," Liventon said flatly.

He looked at his second in command. The elder never changed his expression. He lifted one hand slightly his thumb against his forefinger and made a quick upward motion with a simple twist of his wrist.

Nyman looked down. The THRUSH felt his face flush and he quickly zipped his fly.

"Sorry about that sir," Nyman's voice squeaked.

"Shall we get on with the tour?" Liventon said taking a deep agitated breath.

"With all speed, sir."

They proceeded up the curved staircase.

Armed THRUSH agents stood at attention in the hallways and on staircase of the building. Nyman walked a pace behind the elderly THRUSH Chief. Three armed operatives separated the two men from Lewis Sharpton and Randolph Sequa.

They approached the lab.

"Is the Dilithium gas ready?" Liventon said.

"Yes sir," Sequa said stepping forward, "We have enough on hand to wipe out the entire U.N.C.L.E. headquarters."

"I would like to see the efficiency of the gas first," Liventon said.

Nyman escorted him into the control room. He quickly brought up the video footage of the test.

"Very good, but not what I had in mind," Liventon said.

Nyman, Sequa and Sharpton looked at one another. Nyman thought hard. Who was the most ineffective person on the payroll? All of his operatives were top notch. Sharpton? Solo?

Finally he picked out one of the guards. Sequa walked with Nyman and Liventon to the test room as the unsuspecting young man stepped thru the door. He removed his hat and laid his carbine on the table.

Sequa sneered gleefully at the thought of what was going to happen. Suddenly there was a boney hand on his back and felt himself shoved into the room as well. The door shut and sealed.

"Now….shall we proceed," Liventon said.

Nyman and Sharpton looked at one another and followed their Chief back to the control room.

"Sir...No disrespect intended by Sequa is the best weapons man we have," Sharpton said.

Liventon turned on the video monitor. He motioned for Nyman to take the controls and start the gas saturation.

"Second best Sharpton….All we needed from him was the Intel to make the gas. He's done that. We do not need him anymore. Too flighty if you ask me…..Well Nyman what are you waiting for?"

They watched the monitor. Sequa was pounding on the door trying in vain to get out. The guard in the room with him had no idea what was going on or why the man was panicking. They saw Sequa turn and make a lunge for the guard's weapon. The THRUSH quickly picked it up and held it away from the crazed man.

Sequa struggled with the guard. He wanted the gun. Killing himself would be much less painful then what was going to happen. The guard gave him a butt to the chest sending Sequa across the room.

Nyman turned off the knob controlling the gas. Liventon leaned towards the monitor a sick smile crossed his lips.

"Let him squirm a bit more."

Sequa made one last move to get the gun. In the struggle it went off, the bullet relieving the young guard of the impending agony. Randolph turned the weapon on himself.

"NOW!" Liventon shouted.

There was only a millisecond between the first water droplet and the fireball. They saw the terror on Sequa's face for a second then he was engulfed in flames. Sharpton felt sick.

"Excellent," Liventon said, "Most excellent indeed."

Nyman sat at the control panel. His hands and knees were shaking uncontrollably. He cut a sideways glance at Sharpton. Lewis was trying unsuccessfully to hide the terror in his eyes. But the stain on the front of his trousers betrayed him. He folded his hands in front of him and eased his way out of the room.

Liventon shook his head. He motioned to his aid, who quickly made a note on a small pad he was carrying. Nyman tried to get a look but the aid kept the small notebook from his sightline.

The tour continued.

The cells were next and then the interrogation rooms. Nyman had been able to shake off most of the fear he was feeling.

"Very nice Nyman, I am impressed," Liventon said, "The cells, lab, everything seems to be in top order. I would however change the living quarters for the men. Far too much flash. Simple. Make it simple"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," Nyman said, swelling inside, "Would you like to see the holding area, sir?"

Liventon nodded and they proceeded to the holding area.

"We have a very distinguished guest in our facility, sir," Nyman said "Mr. Napoleon Solo!"

They entered the hallway and went towards the better holding area.

"You have a U.N.C.L.E. prisoner in the Holding area?" Liventon asked surprised.

"Temporarily, sir," Nyman said smiling, "It's part of a coup of sorts….Lure into a false sense of security, then once we have what we want..."

"Is the area secured?"

"Absolutely. Totally escape-proof, nothing in the room that he can "harm" himself with. Coded door locks and armed guards."

The guards snapped to attention as Nyman and the Chief approached. Nyman put the code into the door and pushed it open. Liventon stepped in first.

Napoleon was kicked back on the bed, fully dress except for his shoes and socks. The latter he had rolled into a ball and was casually tossing it into the air and bouncing it off the walls. He glanced over at the THRUSH men.

"On your feet Solo," Nyman shouted.

Napoleon stopped tossing the sock ball and bent his knee as he pulled one of his foot closer to him. He looked at it, let it go and repeated the action with the other foot. He shrugged and went back to the sock game.

"There's nothing on my feet," he said casually.

Nyman walked over with two guards. They promptly yanked the agent off the bed and stood him up on the floor. Solo struggled but could not free his arms from the guards hold.

"Hey is this any way to treat a guest," Napoleon said.

He stared at the elderly THRUSH walking towards him.

"The great Napoleon Solo," Liventon said, "I must say what a disappointment this is. I was expecting something much more…how can I put this….fierce...no, cunning….Not quite..Oh well the right word will come to me…I will say that Alexander's confidence in you as his top man is justified…You seem to be the same type of bungler and incompetent he always was."

Napoleon spit in the THRUSH Chief's eye.

"I know who you are….Santar," he whispered.

A long boney hand caught the agent across the cheek. Solo had to give him credit. He was a lot stronger then he looked. The agent shook off the strike and looked at the elder man.

"Very good Mr. Solo," the THRUSH said, "It's been a very long time since I went by the name Bartomal Santar. I suppose you know everything about me as well. Alexander filled you in I'm sure."

"Every U.N.C.L.E. agent worth his salt knows you, Santar," Solo said as he gave his jaw a shift, "You are a prize we all dream of taking in someday."

"Yes, yes of course…But today is not that day. It will be very gratifying to watch you and Alexander go down together," Bartomal Santar said.

The THRUSH Chief made an odd gesture with his hand. Napoleon felt the guards' grip tighten and he suddenly felt himself being twisted sharply. The pain was tremendous as his body went one way his legs the other. They dropped him to the floor.

Solo lay there a moment. He tried to move but the pain was still very intense. Santar walked closer and lifted his foot back on the heel. Napoleon felt the front of the foot come down against his throat. Press, release, press.

He stepped back.

"I want two guards in the room with him at all times," Santar said, "With orders to shoot to kill if he tries to so much as go to the toilet."

Nyman shouted and two guards who had been standing in the doorway rushed in. Although their uniforms were snap and polish neither of the guards had had time to shave before being called to duty.

"You heard what Mr. Liven..Sant….Excuse me sir, but which name do you prefer we use?" Nyman said knowing that the mere tone of the question would possibly get him shot. Or worse.

"You will address me as Mr. Santar from now on," the THRUSH Chief said glaring at him, "And I want both of these men reprimanded for their personal appearance."

"Yes sir!"

They turned and walked out of the room, leaving the two guards behind.

Napoleon picked up the sock ball from the floor and gave it a hard throw, catching one of the guards in the back of the head. The man flinched and drew his weapon close.

"Can I at least get out of the floor?" Napoleon said.

The guard turned slowly and started towards the bed. He knelt down next to the agent. Solo saw a hand reach towards his face and brush the dark red hand print.

"I see you haven't lost you knack for making friends Napoleon," Illya said with a smile.

Kuryakin and Agent Jobsen helped Solo from the floor. They all fained struggle as the camera was monitoring their every move. They gave the U.N.C.L.E. CEA a shove as he fell across the bed.

"What's been done so far?" Solo said low, twisting his face in mock pain.

"Our people are in position. Tag led us here before company arrived, and now that team is searching for a weapons stash, the DS gas containers mainly," Illya replied, "Napoleon….Mr. Waverly is here…As part of the team."

Solo went pale. The U.N.C.L.E. Chief was putting himself in danger by coming in on the operation.

"….And Mr. Del Floria is with him…"

Nyman and Santar went down the stairs to the front office. Nyman pointed to the hallway across the entry.

"We have your living quarters down that hall sir. There is a sitting room-office combination, bedroom and bath. Very private and secured, bullet resistant glass in the windows, monitoring system that covers all areas of headquarters."

They walked into the small front office.

Amy Penobscot was standing at the far side of the dimly lit room. She shivered and gave the arms of her coat a quick rub to warm up. She looked up as the two men came in.

"Well Nyman," Santar said, "You have been holding out I see…Who is this?"

"Permit me to introduce Miss Amelia Penobscot," Nyman said, "Amy this Mr. Bartomal Santar, head of THRUSH Operations, and in effect, your host."

"She lives here?" Santar said as he walked closer to her.

"Yes sir. She has a connection to Mr. Solo and so in exchange for certain requests, she has agreed to live here with me," Nyman said as he poured out drinks for all.

The sounds of gunfire erupted upstairs. This was followed by the sounds of running feet and shouts from several guards and Sharpton. Lewis came down the stairs.

Nyman rushed out and met him at the foot of the stairwell. The two exchanged words.

Amy stepped into the doorframe, Santar blocking her way.

"What is the problem?" Santar asked.

"It seems that Solo stepped out of line, sir," Nyman said, "He's dead."

Amy screamed and swooned. She fell against the doorframe and slumped into the floor. Nyman rushed back to her and took hold of the woman. He gently gave her cheeks a pat to try and revive her.

"You…..ah…" Santar said pointing to Lewis.

"Lewis Sharpton sir."

"Whatever…..I'm feeling a bit famished. Bring me something to eat."

Bartomal Santar stepped past Nyman and Amy and walked casually towards his office. He dismissed his aid motioning for him to follow Sharpton to the kitchen. The younger man nodded and walked off.

Santar walked into the large office. He started to turn on the light but changed his mind. The fireplace was ablaze and the only light in the room emanated from it. The deep mahogany walls held in the heat and the carvings in the wall and desk cast eerie shadows around the room. Well, eerie to some.

He dropped his briefcase on the desk, poured himself a large neat Gin at the wet bar and carried the bottle back to the desk. He sat down in the thick leather chair and took a drink. That's when he noticed a neatly wrapped package on the desk blotter.

The white tissue paper was obviously old and had a faint smell of mothballs and age. The ribbon holding it closed was antiquated as well. He picked it up and turned it a few times in his hands. The package limped slightly over his fingers.

Santar laid it back down and took another drink. He felt a chill run down his yellow spine as he pushed the package with his finger a few times. Curiosity got the better of the THRUSH Chief and his bony fingers undid the ribbon. He folded back the tissue paper and looked inside.

Bartomal leapt to his feet but found himself unable to retreat. His heart began to pound so hard he felt dizzy. His eyes glued to the small folded object lying in the paper. Gnarled fingers reached down and brushed against what was left of the yellowed silk tassels. He picked up the gin bottle and took a long hard drink.

His other hand picked up the once white silk pilots scarf.


	6. Chapter 6

Written By: Solo's Girl

**Chapter 6**

"**At What Cost."**

Somewhere out of the shadows another hand took hold of the Gin bottle, pulling it away and throwing it across the room into the fireplace. The glass shattered and there was a tremendous roar as the alcohol hit the flames. Santar hear a familiar clicking sound and felt the cold steel barrel against his temple.

"And what a pleasure it is to see you again, Alexander," Bartomal said, "Is your shadow with you?"

Waverly reached over and took the scarf from the THRUSH's hand. Bill Del Floria stepped up on the THRUSH's other side.

"Oh good," Santar said, "Just like old home week…This isn't going to end well, Alexander, you know that as well as I."

"Perhaps...But at least it will end," Waverly said.

Bartomal Santar smiled and made a slight chuckle.

"You can't be serious…It will never end. THRUSH will always have the advantage. If one old goes out, two young move up. In this world there is an unending line of opportunistic, greedy, power-mongering individuals to keep THRUSH thriving for centuries."

Alexander and Bill both knew he was right, but didn't let their expression give away their thoughts. Instead they both stepped closer to the THRUSH. Waverly put his hand on Santar's shoulder and sharply pushed him down into the chair.

"How did you two get in here anyway?"

Del Floria smiled at Waverly, who in turn simply pressed his finger against the side of his nose, this being the sign for a secret. Santar looked around the room for his guards.

"At least tell me where my men are."

Bill walked a few steps to the closet and opened the door. Two THRUSH guards sat in the floor, bound, gagged and in a deep sleep. The THRUSH top man sighed deeply and shook his head. He looked at Waverly.

"I can imagine the deep satisfaction you are feeling right now Alexander," Santar said, "The enemy caught at last. It is nothing, however, compared to the satisfaction I had each time THRUSH destroyed your agents. Seeing the dead bodies, the tortured remains of your once gallant men, knowing that no matter how close you came, you never found us. Even the mighty Solo and Kuryakin couldn't make the grade in the end. Of course everything has been somewhat of an anti-climax….after I blew up your father's plane."

Bill looked at his old partner. Waverly clenched the scarf in one hand. His other readied the Webley for firing. Del Floria quickly radioed for extra agents.

"My deepest satisfaction though comes from the thoughts of, not what we did to UNCLE, but what I have done personally for THRUSH. Rising thru the ranks, money, prestige, power anything I want. Unlike you Alexander who has become merely older. Alone. Still looking for the glory of the past, not realizing that it has long since passed you by."

Del Floria walked back to the desk and held his weapon on the THRUSH.

"Come now Willie," Santar said with a half smile, "I thought you people preached the "not revenge" edict. I am unarmed, being forced to remain in this chair. Cold blooded murder isn't U.N.C.L.E. style."

Willie Del Floria pressed the barrel of his gun to Santar's temple. The THRUSH heard the hammer pull back and click. He couldn't help but tremble slightly. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as the front man stepped behind his chair.

There was a knock at the door.

Waverly cautiously walked to the heavy wooden doors. He slipped back the panel and saw two U.N.C.L.E. agents standing on the other side. He closed the panel and nodded at his partner. The Chief unlocked the door.

The heavy wooden doors where forced open and the bodies of two agents fell into the room, THRUSH darts embedded in their necks. Both dead.

Waverly quickly moved aside as three THRUSH guards made their way inside. They fired at Del Floria who was quick to return it. Waverly fired off two shots. One of the guards turned towards the sound and fired. Willie took him out with one shot, striking the guard at the base of the neck with pinpoint accuracy.

Santar grabbed a gun from the desk, in the dimly lit room all the guard saw was the firelight flash on the metal barrel. He fired striking the THRUSH Chief in the shoulder. Santar's chair flew backwards from the force and he fell to the floor. Del Floria took a head over heels tumble back, but regained his balance and continued to fire.

More shots were exchanged as two more THRUSH entered the room. Waverly and Del Floria took cover behind the heavy mahogany desk and returned fire. In a matter of moments several U.N.C.L.E. agents found their way into the room, disarming the remaining THRUSH guards.

Santar lay curled up in the floor, a pool of blood formed beneath his shoulder. Waverly knelt down and looked at him. All his memories came rushing back, the treachery, the betrayal, the murder of his father and the attempted destruction of U.N.C.L.E.'s beginnings. Any other man would have put a gun to Santar's head and pulled the trigger, but Alexander Waverly wasn't that kind of a man.

The U.N.C.L.E. Chief stood back up and motioned his men to pick Santar up.

"Alexander!" Bill yelled.

Waverly felt something strike him in the chest and he fell back against the wall. The dull sounds of two shots rang thru the room. Willie fired once more.

The smoking derringer dropped from Santar's dead hand.

There was a soft moan, a gasp for air.

Alexander Waverly did his best to hold Willie up but he was slowly slipping to the floor. The chief knelt down holding his wounded comrade in his arms.

Del Floria's body went limp.

His eyes closed.

Sharpton and his men had the agents on the run. The sounds of gunfire rang from every floor of the building. Warning sirens began to blare as UNCLE's finest fought to gain control over the situation.

Illya, Napoleon and Marnie, all armed to the teeth managed to hustle several THRUSH operatives into the heavily fortified rooms, securing the door locks. The THRUSH pounded on the doors begging to be get out, promising to spill all if they would be spared the agony of incineration.

Illya only gave them a cunning smile, and a quick tip of his hat, and then disappeared along with the others down the hallway.

Jackie, Tag and the bomb disposal unit had located the tanks of gas in the basement storage area. They quickly disassembled the rigging from the ventilation system and secured the tanks. In all a total of sixteen had been found, fully charged. The Disposal Chief shook his head.

"That's enough to wipe out five city blocks," he estimated, "And no-one would ever have known what was happening until it was too late."

Tag began to make a deep throaty whine. He stared poking around some large crates and they watched as he began to scratch at one. The men walked over and carefully opened the wooden crate.

Jackie quickly opened her communicator and called Illya.

Kuryakin looked at his partners.

"The bomb team found crates loaded with warheads with rigging to up to gas canisters," he said.

"Have the detonators been attached?" Napoleon said.

"The first we found has, checking the other crates now," Jackie replied.

"Have any of them been set?"

"They don't appear to be," the disposal chief said, "But they need to be moved….carefully. Even without the canisters attached they are still lethal."

"Any markings on the crates to indicate their destinations?"

Several voices piped in softly as the men read the crates.

"Paris." "Moscow." "Istanbul." "Rome." "Rio." "Washington D.C." "…three for the San Andreas Fault…Two for Alberta."

"Chief Richards…Get your men in to secure the weapons and good luck. We are going to try and find the rest of the detachment. Jackie, we need you and Tag with us. Meet us at the foot of the main staircase. Kuryakin out."

Illya and Marnie stared towards the stair landing. A detachment of THRUSH suddenly appeared behind them and opened fire. The two U.N.C.L.E. agents had no choice but to make a dash down the stairs, firing back over their shoulders as they were pursued down the steps. Bullets ricocheted off the marble steps.

Sharpton appeared out of nowhere and struck Napoleon in the back of the head dazing the agent. Two men grabbed him and headed down the opposite end of the hallway. Down a back staircase and onto the lower floor, they entered the communications room.

Solo was bound and tossed onto the sofa for the time being. He and his Aunt would be the perfect means of escape. Sharpton informed the guards to watch the agent closely, then he slowly opened the door and made a dash for the front office.

Bullets whizzed thru the air around his head and he barely missed being flattened by Kuryakin in his dash. Illya saw the THRUSH but his shots missed as the man disappeared into the room across the hall.

Illya fired off several more rounds taking out two more THRUSH, one on the stairs, one fell limp across the stair landing rail. He ducked into the hallway just off the entryway. He could see into the other office at the end of the hall.

Several U.N.C.L.E. agents were working frantically inside the room. Jackie and Tag came out of the doors and approached the agent.

"Santar is dead. Mr. Del Floria got him," Jackie said.

"What about Mr. Waverly?"

Before Jackie could answer, Illya saw the agents whisk Waverly out of the office and the side entrance of the building. Two more men followed carrying a liter with Del Floria's bloodied body out. The rest of the agents stayed behind to document what happened.

"Where's Marnie?" Jackie asked.

Everything was quiet. Eerily quiet. Illya leaned tentatively around the corner and looked into the large open entry way.

The smoke from the guns still hung in the air. A dead THRUSH hung over the second floor banister his blood making a long slow drip onto the main floor below. Another was halfway up the stairwell, sitting un-naturally against the wall, his gun still in his limp hand, eyes staring blankly into the air. The entire front of his grey THRUSH uniform was now a deep crimson color.

Illya felt his chest tighten as his eyes found Marnie lying at the foot of the stairs, face down, her legs and feet still on the last step she had been standing on. Her .38 still clutched in one hand, she lay there, unmoving.

Tag made a sharp whining sound deep in his throat. Instinct told him to go to the wounded agent, but Jackie held him back. She stroked the dogs head and he stopped making the sound.

From directly across the entry they could hear the sounds of shouting. Sharpton and Nyman were arguing over the best escape plan. Sharpton grabbed Amy by the arm and gave her a hard shake.

"She'll make the perfect shield," he shouted, "Otherwise, we kill her."

Nyman twisted the other man's hand from her arm. He gently rubbed her arm and then moved her aside.

"It's quite out there," Nyman said.

"Jackie…" Illya said low, "I have an idea….Take Tag and see if you can get in behind them somehow."

The woman nodded and taking the dog with her moved future back along the small hall. Tag began to sniff and scratch at the closet door. She quieted him and opened the door cringing as it squeaked. The dog pushed inside and rooted around the shelves in the large walk-in space. Jackie smiled at her furry companion as he rose on his hind legs his nose pointed up towards the small hatch in the ceiling. She gave him a firm rub on the top of his head. She held the dog's face and pointed towards the hall.

"Tag…Go to Illya," she said quietly but firmly, "Go to Illya..."

The dog gave her cheek a lick and ran back to the Russian. Illya felt the dog nudge his shoulder with his head.

Jackie crawled thru the narrow space and found the opening in the closet of the other room. She lowered herself down into the small space. As she moved her arm brushed against something metal. Using the small penlight from her pocket, she saw the hinged metal panel. The fuse-box for the main house.

Illya looked around and saw a dead THRUSH operative a few feet away. He reached over and grabbed the blood stained hat. The Russian looked for any movement in the entry and on the stairs. It was clear so he quickly laid down on his side his head and shoulders in plain view, the bloodied cap at his head.

The office door opened slightly. Nyman looked cautiously out. He saw the dead girl at the foot of the stairs, the dead Russian just off the hallway.

"Go and get Solo," he said to Sharpton, "Come my dear, we're leaving."

"Bring Solo out," Sharpton shouted from the office.

There was a loud scuffling sound from somewhere across the room and two large doors opened near the back side of the stairwell. Two armed THRUSH guards dragged Napoleon out between them. The Agent was giving it everything he had as he struggled against them. They stopped just inside the doors and waited.

From his vantage point Illya watched as Solo's head pivoted slightly then fell forward. Napoleon gave his head a light shake and blinked a few times. The whack on the head had really disoriented him. Kuryakin saw his friend's mouth open and he saw Solo swallow a large knot that had suddenly moved to his throat.

The door directly across from Kuryakin opened and Sharpton walked out. He moved across the room to the THRUSH guards and Solo. He saw the body of Marnie lying at the foot of the stairs.

"Such a pity," he said stepping over her, "When will U.N.C.L.E. learn that women aren't suited for this kind of….."

Sharpton jumped straight up in the air a few inches. He landed flat on his feet his eyes staring blankly at his guards. He suddenly fell to the side and it was then that they saw the blood streaming from the seat of his tan trousers and the back of his neck.

The entrance and exit wound from Marnie's direct, point blank shot. Her hand fell limp to the floor once more and she rolled onto her side her legs falling off the step.

Nyman, holding tight to Amelia Penobscot started towards the door.

Jackie Reyno smiled and took another small metal tube from her shirt pocket placing it between her lips. She gave the silent whistle a hard blow.

The entire house was thrust into total darkness. Illya felt a rush of air as something went past him. The two THRUSH guards felt the same thing.

"What the hell is going on?" Nyman shouted, "Get the lights back on!"

One of the guards let Napoleon go and stated back inside the room. Solo took the opportunity to disarm the other and shoved him back inside the room. Illya slipped around the corner and helped his partner secure the door.

There was a loud terrified scream from behind the doors and the guards fought in vain to get them open once again. Solo and Kuryakin could only hear the cries of the THRUSH men and the ripping of cloth. A few shots were fired but to no avail. There was a low familiar pop, twice then silence.

Jackie gave a soft coded knock on the door and the two men let go of the knobs. The lights came back on and the door opened. Illya and Napoleon both snickered as they saw Tag sitting on his haunches, tongue lopping from the side of his mouth a very pleased expression on his face. The Russian reached down and pulled the piece of grey cloth from the dog's mouth.

A scream came from the other room and everyone turned to see Nyman holding Amy with one arm, his free hand holding a THRUSH gun to her head.

"Let her go Nyman!" Napoleon shouted.

Amy struggled against the THRUSH. He turned to look at the agents and she saw the bodies lying scattered around the entryway. Amy screamed in agony.

"My baby!"

Her daintily manicured nails caught Nyman in the side of the face. He yelped in pain letting his grasp ease. He saw her break free and run across the room. Towards Marnie.

"The girl?" he said to himself.

Nyman aimed and fired an action that was repeated by Solo and Kuryakin. Shots were exchanged again between the three of them. Tag made a dash in and caught the THRUSH squarely in the knees knocking him to the floor. Nyman struggled to sit up and fired several more shots.

A set of teeth dug deep into his wrist as he dropped the weapon.

But Nyman was dead.

"Amy!" Napoleon shouted.

Everyone turned to see the woman now slumped over in the floor. She was on her knees trying desperately to reach her daughter. She reached over to Marnie and fell forward, her body draped over her only child.

Illya saw the back of her beautiful pale blue coat was spotted red.

**2:15 am**

**U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters Infirmary.**

Alexander Waverly and Jackie Reyno sat across the hall watching the door of one of the rooms. Tag was curled up at her feet. She could see a look of pain in the U.N.C.L.E. Chief's face. Illya Kuryakin came down the hall and stopped next to them. He was about to speak.

The door opened slowly and Doctor Hendricks walked out.

Thru the open door they could see Napoleon sitting next to the bed his head resting on the side. Next to him, Marnie sat on the chair arm her good hand rubbing the back of his shoulders, her wounded shoulder immobilized by plaster.

"Miss Penobscot is going to be fine," he said.

Jackie made a sigh of relief. She reached down and gave Tag a reassuring pat on the head.

"Any news yet about Mr. Del Floria?" Illya asked.

"Only that Martz is still in surgery and doing everything he can," Hendricks replied.

"Alexander," a voice called from up the hallway.

Waverly stood up slowly, still sore from the fight and turned to see Martz standing at the end of the hall.

The doctor was removing his surgical garb. He slipped the bloodied gown off and handed it to an intern standing beside him. The younger man took the clothing and walked back to the operating room.

Waverly approached. He looked at the doctor and went immediately past him into the small room just off of surgery.

"Jackie, stay here," Illya said, "I'll be right back."

Kuryakin took off up the hall. Martz stopped him at the door and spoke low to the Russian. Jackie could see Illya lean back against the wall. He ran his hand over his head, pushing his hair back, and then ran his hand slowly down his arm. Martz reached over and put his hand on Illya's shoulder giving it a pat.

Waverly stood next to the bed and looked at his old friend.

Del Floria was struggling for every breath, his pain dulled but not gone. One side of his head was covered in thick gauze and held the tube feeding much needed oxygen to his body.

"I should have done this myself," Waverly said low.

"Y…you're a….rotten...surgeon…"Willie said slowly.

Alexander smiled. Same old Willie, he thought. He gave his wounded comrade's hand a gentle pat.

"Save your strength Willie," Waverly said.

Willie looked off across the room and smiled slightly. Waverly saw him make a small nod and looked to see what his friend was looking at. No one else was in the room but them. He looked back.

Del Floria took a deep breath and sighed.

"He's…really proud…Alex…"

Waverly looked puzzled.

"Who's really proud Will?"

"Your dad….my dad….the…Cornel…all proud…"

Waverly felt his lip tremble. He clasped his partners hand firmly.

"….we made…..we made it work…U.N.C.L.E…you…and me…"

Waverly looked at him and forced a smile. He gave Del Floria a wink.

"We done good, partner," Alex said in his best New York tone.

Del Floria smiled.

"See….speaking American…..isn't easy….either.."

Waverly laughed as he remembered those two young agents in London so many years ago. Willie was right. They had been U.N.C.L.E.'s first real team and thru their special abilities had helped to nurture the organization into what it was now.

"Alex?...Alex!"

Bill Del Floria's hand began to shake as he tried to feel his partner's strong hold. Waverly took his arm much in the same way the ancient Roman's would greet one another and held on.

"I'm right here Willie," Waverly said, "You know for a fact….." he words caught in his throat, "A great U.N.C.L.E. agent….always…"

"…protects his partner..." they said together.

Del Floria smiled weakly, still holding his partner's arm. His eyes closed.

Alexander Waverly sat there quietly, never letting go.

For the next twelve hours.

Things were unusually quite at headquarters the next day. Tales of the raid, the rescue and taking down the head of THRUSH were whispered from agent to agent. They knew that another man would be poised to take over the evil empire; but U.N.C.L.E. had seceded in getting the top man on its most wanted list.

The Bomb Disposal team would be taking the canisters of DS gas out into the middle of the Atlantic ocean. Detonators set, the canisters where dropped overboard into the water. The rigging exploded, the water set off the gas and a huge fireball rolled up from the sea. After water samples were taken and analyzed, no harm had been done to the water or lifeforms and no contaminates were found.

Napoleon had finished filling out his report and walked it to Waverly's office. The agent made a deep sigh as he saw his boss sitting at his desk.

The Chief was leaning back slightly in his chair. One elbow resting on the arm, his hand pressed to his forehead. Waverly slowly turned his head and acknowledged his agent. Solo walked over. The Chief sat up as the agent came closer. Napoleon noticed something in Alexander's hand.

The thick piece of cardboard on which was mounted an old faded tan and brown photograph shook slightly in the old man's hand. Solo looked at the picture of the two young, excited faces. Dressed in knee-britches, argyle vests, ties and crisp white shirts the two boys mugged for the camera, despite the chilly weather.

The taller of the two was 17, well defined features and thick black hair, the smaller, age 15, slightly on the pudgy side but muscular, bright eyed, and light hair. Hands resting on each other's shoulders their friendship literally jumped out of the photo at you. They were smiling, young, innocent and adventurous.

Ready to take on the world.

Below the photo was printed "Alexander and William - February 1919 Paris France".

Waverly saw the smile on Solo's face. He laid the photo on the desk and started to take the report. The pneumatic door hissed open and both men turned to see Doctor Martz walking towards them. Simply out of reflex, Napoleon felt himself place a hand on his boss's shoulder.

"I can't figure out which of the two of you is the most stubborn," the doctor said a relieved but exasperated sound in his voice.

Waverly leaned back in his chair and sighed. His hands reached up and brushed across his face.

"I would say at least four weeks…six would be better," Martz continued, "He wants to see you."

Waverly simply nodded words unable to find him at the moment. His shaking legs carried him across the room. Martz gave him a reassuring pat as he passed. Waverly disappeared out the door.

The doctor looked at Solo. The agent had a wide smile on his face and he picked the photo up from the desk. He held it out for Martz to see.

"1919! Almost fifty years," Martz said, "I guess some partnerships last forever."

Illya walked in and stopped just inside the door.

"There you are Napoleon," he said, "Chief Barker wants to see you, and then you need to come to the infirmary."

Illya smiled at his partner.

"I certainly hope so Doctor Martz," Napoleon said as he started towards the door, "I certainly hope so."


End file.
